


Everything Is Awesome

by strangeandcharm



Series: Everything Is Awesome [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dark, Gore, Graphic Description, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-01 04:35:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18328736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandcharm/pseuds/strangeandcharm
Summary: Sequel toFilthy Angel Whore. Despite the odds, things are going well for Dean and Castiel – maybe even too well. But that’s not the Winchester way, of course, and soon a hunting trip leaves Dean, Sam and Castiel in over their heads... and in some cases, out of their minds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Please note: this fic is very dark at times and could be triggering (see tags).**

* * *

It wasn’t the first time that Dean Winchester had woken from a sound sleep with Castiel’s mouth on his cock. It wasn’t even the second. But it was the first time he’d done it just as Sam knocked on his bedroom door, and at no point in his entire life – including that time when he’d been electrocuted in a cellar – had Dean been closer to dying from a heart attack.

“Dean? Guys? Are you decent?”

 _Jesus, of all the timing!_

“Holy shit, Cas, stop!” Dean squeaked.

Sam’s voice was muffled through the door: “What? I can’t hear you.” 

Dean pushed Castiel’s head away from him, terrified that his brother was about to walk in – had he remembered to lock the door last night? Had Castiel? “We are absolutely _not_ decent!” he yelled, just in case.

Sam mumbled something outside the door and then footsteps disappeared down the corridor. Gulping in a relieved breath, Dean lifted the blankets and looked down at Castiel, who had frozen in position over his crotch. 

“Did you catch what he just said?”

Castiel licked his lips, a picture of innocence. “He said, _‘You’re not twenty any more, for chrissake. Where do you get the energy from?’_ ”

Dean thought about it, then nodded. “Huh. Well, he probably has a point. I do seem to do this a lot.”

Castiel looked down at Dean’s penis and then back up at him. “Would you like me to finish?”

Dean grinned. “It’d be rude not to.”

“I agree,” said Castiel matter-of-factly, and Dean wiped sleep out of his eyes and then lay back on the pillow. 

_One day,_ he thought, _I might actually get used to having Castiel between my legs. But that won’t be today._

 

* * *

 

“Sam has found a case,” Castiel informed him an hour later, as he wandered into the kitchen with damp hair and fresh clothes. Castiel never needed a shower – he seemed to be self-cleaning – and it had only just occurred to Dean that this was no obstruction to them showering together anyway. He’d have to suggest it... although this probably wasn’t the time, considering that Sam was sitting at the kitchen table. 

“Wide awake now, are we?” his brother said archly, looking up from his laptop with narrowed eyes.

Dean shot him his best smug grin. “I wouldn’t say no to some coffee, but yeah. I’m up-and-at-’em.”

Sam huffed, shaking his head, but it was good-natured annoyance. He pretended to be irritated with Dean and Castiel’s frequent... exertions, but in all fairness, they had been trying to keep things as low-key as possible around him. Part of it was so that Sam wouldn’t feel uncomfortable – they did share living space with him, after all – but part of it was that Dean himself wasn’t entirely comfortable yet with being publicly demonstrative while in a relationship (a _relationship!_ ), let alone with a man. Who was also an angel. An angel who’d disappeared for five years, had been imprisoned and tortured by demons and other creatures, before being returned half-insane.

The last few years had been terrible, there was no denying it. But the past month had been glorious. Dean shot a fond look at Castiel, who was leaning over to peer at Sam’s screen, and his heart leapt. 

_He was back. He was his._

“There’s something fishy going on in Beaverton,” Sam declared.

Dean had been reaching for a mug, but instead he slapped his hand down on the counter. “You’ve gotta warn me if you’re gonna say something like that, Sam. Come _on_.”

“Apparently there’s been a spate of suicides,” Sam continued, completely ignoring both the double-entendre and Dean’s reaction. “Nearly thirty so far, all people who seemed totally fine until they started having fainting spells. Over the course of a few days they got more and more depressed until...” He cleared his throat, awkwardly. “Well, they took their own lives in different ways, but there’s a definite pattern here.”

“That’s a lot of people,” Dean mused, pouring some coffee. “It has to be connected. Any leads?”

“Nothing’s standing out so far, but I think we should go see for ourselves.”

“Okay, I’m up for a road trip. Cas?”

“This does seem to be more than a coincidence,” Castiel observed. “Something could be affecting these people.”

Dean sat down. “Agreed. I’ll just finish my coffee and we’ll head out.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” said Castiel, looking concerned. “Why did you say Sam should have warned you that ‘something fishy was going on in Beaverton’?”

Sam bit his lip, hiding a smile. 

“Don’t worry, Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head. “I’ll tell you later.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel followed him to his room and watched silently as Dean threw some clothes, weapons and toiletries in a bag. However, when he turned to leave, he was surprised when the angel closed the door and leaned back against it.

“What?” Dean asked, puzzled.

Castiel lowered his head and looked up at him coyly. 

“What?” Dean said again, although he’d seen _that_ look before.

Castiel undid his belt.

Yup. Dean laughed. “Seriously? Dude, Sam’s waiting for us at the car. We don’t have time.”

“It won’t take long,” Castiel said, and sure enough, when he dropped his pants it was clear that he was already hard. Dean stared at the bulge in his briefs, appraising it, and licked his lips without even realizing that he was doing so. 

“Hmm. Well, I suppose it _is_ your turn.”

“Come here,” Castiel ordered, and when Dean stepped forward the angel placed both hands on his shoulders and pushed him firmly down onto his knees. 

“You’re so impatient,” Dean scolded, glaring up at him, but Castiel seemed unrepentant. Being demanding when it came to sex was a thing with him, apparently, and it was something Dean had enjoyed over the last few weeks. But it was also something he didn’t want to think about too deeply. Castiel had been powerless for years, forced to do the bidding of hundreds, possibly even thousands of creatures, and so if he felt he had to take some power back in the bedroom, Dean understood. Whether it was healthy or not, however, he had no clue. Knowing Castiel and the fucked-up lives both of them lived, it probably wasn’t.

“So what do we have here?” Dean said lightly, unhooking Castiel’s briefs from the frankly quite insistent penis below and pulling them down. But that was the end of his joking: he was swallowing it a second later, taking no time to play around because they were supposed to be leaving now and he didn’t want Sam to get suspicious about their absence. As usual, Castiel’s cock was hot and solid in his mouth, tasting faintly of salt, and as he sucked it eagerly Castiel’s thighs tensed and his head banged backwards onto the hard wood of the door with a _thump_. 

“ _Yes,_ Dean,” Castiel hissed, and fingers clenched in his hair.

“Mmm-hmm,” Dean replied, running his tongue up and down the shaft a few times before pulling his lips away, licking his palm and fisting the base of the cock with a twist and tug that made its owner groan. The sound made Dean’s tummy flip, but he wasn’t going to get hard himself right now; he had a job to do. He moved his fist up and down Castiel’s penis with purpose, smiling at the sight of pre-come already leaking out of the glistening, shining tip, then leaned over to lick his testicles – still a new, peculiar experience for him, although he was sure he’d get used to it one day. Then he revisited his original task and sucked cock in the way he liked to be sucked himself: sloppy and wet, replete with moans and a faint hint of teeth, faster and more urgent until he felt Castiel’s dick grow hotter and concrete-hard against his tongue and realized that he was about to come. 

Dean hadn’t quite reached the point in their relationship – or hell, in his life – where he was willing to swallow someone else’s semen, no matter how much that man meant to him. Gay sex entailed a series of new, mind-blowing discoveries and he’d been filling up on them for weeks – and doing rather well at it, he thought, considering it was one hell of a life change. But he needed more time to cope with this one. And so, knowing that Castiel understood, he gave one last, determined lick and let his fist do the rest of the work. 

Castiel didn’t seem to notice: his body tensed and he froze, staring up at the ceiling, his fingers twisting in Dean’s hair, until the pleasure hit and he made a soft, satisfied _whimper_ that had fast become one of Dean’s favorite sounds in the world. Then, with his eyes glowing a cold, fiery blue, Castiel came into Dean’s hand in two short, defiant bursts.

A moment later, there were footsteps in the corridor. “Are you guys coming?” Sam called through the door.

Dean snickered like a teenager, staring at the semen lying hot and pearlescent on his palm.

“Yes,” Castiel rasped, still panting. “One moment, please.”

The footsteps moved away, and Dean thought he heard Sam say something. He looked up at Castiel, eyebrows raised.

Castiel met his gaze and shrugged. “He said, ‘ _Give me strength._ ’”

 

* * *

 

The journey to Oregon was long, but it passed pleasantly enough. Dean drove, tormenting his brother with his music choices as always, as Sam tried to research and Castiel sat in the back seat, gazing out of the window placidly. It felt good to be outside the bunker and on a case, although the January rain made the drive a little more treacherous than Dean would’ve liked. 

Sometimes he had to bite the inside of his cheek, hard, to check he wasn’t asleep and dreaming that this was happening. Losing the people he cared about had been such a theme throughout his life, and here he was: driving to another hunt with his brother fit and healthy beside him and, somehow, amazingly, incredibly, a fallen angel in the backseat who had become the focus of his whole world. He thought back to those long, lonely years when he’d thought Castiel had either abandoned him or had died. Not knowing for _sure_ , not having answers, was the worst part about his disappearance by far. And then he’d returned, at last, so broken and messed up, a mere shadow of the powerful creature he’d been when Dean had met him. 

It astonished Dean to think that they’d somehow progressed from there to... _this_. Castiel sitting quietly, calmly in his car; a fully-fledged individual again with his own agency and his own desires, and one of those desires was to love Dean as hard as Dean loved him back.

All his life, Dean had felt unlucky. This past month he’d felt like he’d won a lottery.

The problem was that he knew it wouldn’t last. How could it? He was Dean Winchester. 

 

* * *

 

They stopped at a diner as dusk fell, and it was then – in full earshot of everybody sitting around them – that Castiel chose to announce, “I get it now.”

“What do you get?” Sam asked.

“‘Beaverton’ is a double-entendre.”

Dean nearly choked on his burger.

Castiel frowned. “I still don’t quite understand the reference to things being ‘fishy’, though.”

A passing waitress gave Castiel a disconcerted look. 

“You really don’t want to know,” Dean assured him, and Castiel sat back, his eyes narrow, but he didn’t say anything else. 

 

* * *

 

The Beaverton Sheriff’s Department seemed relieved to have three FBI agents turn up on their doorstep out of the blue to investigate the recent spate of suicides, and, after Sam got creative and informed them it could be something to do with a new kind of drug hitting the streets, they willingly handed over the files on the victims. 

It became clear that the people who’d died were perfectly respectable citizens who’d never been in a day’s trouble in their lives: teachers, accountants, mechanics. Aside from that, there was nothing linking them at all. Even the ways they’d chosen to end their lives were wildly different, from jumping off buildings to lying down in front of trains.

Dean and Castiel visited the coroner while Sam interviewed some grieving family members. When they convened at their motel later that day, none of them were any the wiser.

“It’s definitely supernatural,” Sam declared, as Dean opened a beer and offered it to him. “All of the people said the vics heard weird music in their heads for the week leading up to their suicides. Like, _all the time._ It was driving them crazy.”

“What kind of weird music?” Dean asked, curiosity piqued. “Like, Björk-weird or _Simpsons_ vaporwave weird?”

Both his brother and Castiel stared at him, bemused.

“What? It’s a thing on YouTube, go look.”

“They all said it was carnival music of some kind. On a loop, apparently, just never-ending. They couldn’t think. They couldn’t sleep.” Sam shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “And then they all kept passing out, too, sometimes for hours. Some of the families are asking for an inquest to see if the local hospital was negligent. All of the victims were examined by doctors and then told they were fine.”

“So what would make victims hear music and pass out?” Dean mused. “That’s really weird.”

Castiel sat down on the end of Sam’s bed, clearly thinking hard. He’d changed out of his FBI suit and was wearing his own clothes again: Dean had taken him shopping for some the previous week. He was currently dressed in jeans and a green shirt with a t-shirt underneath that had a picture of a ginger kitten on it. Dean had assured him it was the height of ‘cool’ without letting him know that they were standing in the ladies’ section. He’d almost talked himself out of pranking him – Castiel had been through so much, it didn’t seem fair – but then he’d figured that perhaps this kind of stuff was as near to normal as either of them got, so whatever.

It _was_ a very cute kitten though, he had to admit.

“I have heard of a demon named Amdusias who is said to create the music of Hell,” Castiel mused, narrowing his eyes. “Although I have never come across any evidence that he exists.”

“Is he the lead guy in Nickelback?” Dean asked automatically, because it was too obvious a joke to leave unsaid.

“Do you know anything else about him?” Sam asked, typing the name into his computer. 

“The stories are ancient and confused, but Amdusias’s presence is supposed to be heralded by thunder and great storms.”

Dean shrugged. “We can check the weather for the past few weeks and see if things have been thundery.”

Sam snorted. “It’s Oregon in January, Dean, I don’t think it’s usually sunshine and heatwaves.”

“Whatever it is, we need to know how it is choosing its victims,” Castiel said thoughtfully. “There must be _something_ they all have in common.”

 

* * *

 

There was, as it turned out: after another half-day of searching, Dean discovered that all the victims had gone hiking in a nearby forest just before their strange behavior had begun. Some more investigation later – including what Dean thought was a rather impressive hack into the GPS data on the victims’ phones by his brother, although he’d never tell him that – they even had the coordinates of the one place that six of them, at least, had visited. 

It was a nature trail that was a little off the usual grid. A log cabin sat, apparently abandoned, within a short walk of the path. It was too much of a coincidence – and so whatever was there, they were about to find out. 

They arrived an hour before nightfall, armed to the teeth and expecting anything. The walk from the car had taken an hour – not much fun in the rain – and their destination didn’t exactly lift their spirits. The cabin looked as though it had been used until fairly recently but now sat, moss-covered and brooding, in a clearing that was full of mud. The only sound in the vicinity came from the incessant falling rain and the occasional rumble of distant thunder... a good sign, given Amdusias’s reputation, meaning that perhaps he was here. 

If it _was_ him, of course. Dean wasn’t convinced whatever was causing these suicides was the demon Castiel had mentioned, but they didn’t have any other ideas. 

“Do we knock?” Sam wondered, staring over at the cabin’s front door. 

Dean shrugged. “I doubt whatever’s inside is expecting a pizza delivery. Let’s do this.”

Weapons out, they climbed the wooden steps to discover the door was ajar. Nothing happened as they entered the gloomy, one-roomed cabin and they explored its interior cautiously. It seemed like an ordinary hunter’s retreat that had been abandoned, although the windows were still intact and it felt dry and a little warmer than the chilly forest outside. There was a bare, ancient bed with a thin blue mattress; a few chairs, a table and a small kitchen area that was still stocked with plates and pans, but no food. There didn’t seem to be anything amiss: it was just an empty cabin. 

“Okay, so now what?” Dean asked, lowering his gun.

“Perhaps whatever we’re hunting is nocturnal,” Castiel suggested. “We should wait.”

“Or perhaps it’s something the victims met in the forest, not in here,” Sam said.

There was a flash of lightning and thunder boomed. The rain, if possible, increased in volume, pouring from the sky as though it was annoyed with them.

Dean shrugged. “I’m up for staying,” he said. “That path’s gonna be a quagmire by now. And Cas is right, it could come back.”

“Yes, it could,” said a voice.

The three of them jumped and turned, weapons raised.

A man blocked the doorway, smiling wryly, his arms folded. He was tall – way taller than even Sam, possibly more than seven feet. His hair was pale blond, long and tied back in a ponytail, and his eyes were dark and calculating. He was dressed in ordinary hiking gear and Dean couldn’t see any obvious weapons, but of course that meant nothing. He could have other ways of attacking strangers who’d just barged into his cabin.

“What manner of creature are you?” Castiel demanded, stepping forward and wielding his angel blade.

The stranger stared at him, narrowing his eyes. Then his eyebrows shot up with some emotion Dean couldn’t quite decipher and his smile widened. 

“Of all the people to walk into my home, I wasn’t expecting _you_ , angel,” he said, in an accent that sounded like an odd mixture of Scottish and Irish. “A hunter now, are we?”

“Do I know you?” Castiel growled, frowning.

“What do ye think?” the man said, tilting his head. 

Castiel didn’t answer, glaring at him, and the man chuckled. And then, bizarrely, he looked over at Dean and winked. 

What the hell?

“What did you do to those people?” Sam demanded, taking a step forward with his gun aimed squarely at the man’s forehead.

“I showed them how meaningless their pathetic human lives were.” The man unfolded his arms, and for the first time Dean noticed that his fingernails were inhumanly long, thick and razor-sharp. “I can do the same for you, if ye think you wish it. I enjoy my work.”

“There is... magic surrounding you,” Castiel declared, suddenly sounding confused; his tone made Dean shoot him a concerned look. “I recognize it... but what _are_ you?”

The man’s smile faded. “I’m sure it’ll come back to ye, laddie. But for now, it would seem that I’m your host. Only I wasn’t ready for visitors today, and you’re very much _not_ welcome.”

It happened in a flash, an eyeblink, a heartbeat. He was standing at the door and then he wasn’t – he was in front of Sam and his arm was raised, and then Sam was hitting the other side of the cabin with a yelp and a gigantic crash. Dean trained his gun on the creature but it was yanked out of his grip and, a second later, a hand pushed him in the chest and he landed on the floor in a muddle of arms and legs. It took him a few attempts to catch his breath and then he looked up, shocked, to see the creature had shoved Castiel against a wall by his lapels and was gazing down at him calmly. 

“I never thought I’d see _you_ again,” it said.

Castiel glared. “I have no recollection of us meeting,” he snapped, and tried to move the arm holding his angel blade. The creature simply looked down at his hand and, with a gasp, Castiel released it. The metal clattered on the floor and the creature smiled at Castiel dangerously. 

“Oh, we definitely met, my wee pal. Several times, in fact.”

Dean swallowed. He suddenly knew what this thing was referring to, and every instinct told him to head it off at the pass. He had no idea where his gun was, but he reached into his belt and pulled out his knife, shooting a glance across the cabin at his brother. Sam was on the floor, moving sluggishly, and from what Dean could see of his face beneath his hair, he seemed dazed. _No back-up from him yet,_ he calculated, swallowing down a twinge of worry, and rose to his feet.

Castiel was straining to move, apparently overpowered. “I am not your _pal_ ,” he grunted. 

“No, you’re not, are you?” The creature leaned in and placed its lips by Castiel’s ear. The words were quiet, but Dean heard them anyway: “The whole world knows what ye are, Castiel. You’re a _filthy angel whore._ ”

Castiel blinked rapidly in shock, his jaw falling open.

“I heard ye escaped,” the creature crooned. “I never thought ye would come to see me, or bring me two delicious mortal gifts. I have to say, I’m honored. We should pick up where we left off.”

It reached down and grabbed Castiel’s crotch. Outraged, Dean jumped forward with his knife raised.

The creature didn’t even look at him; it simply threw out a hand and pain exploded in Dean’s neck.

He fell backwards, thrown by the momentum of whatever had hit him, and just as his back hit the floorboards he realized that he couldn’t breathe.

_What the fuck had it just done to him?_

He raised his hands to feel for damage... and couldn’t find his throat. 

There was just wetness: warm, liquid wetness, and a space where there never used to be a space. Then there was terrible, terrifying pain, the kind of pain that should have made him scream if only he could breathe or speak or do anything with his throat, but he couldn’t because _it just wasn’t there any more._ It had been ripped out, torn away, and Dean’s mouth opened and closed feebly as he tried to draw in air, but all he could do was gurgle in his own blood. It seemed to go on for an eternity before he rolled his head to look across the room, understanding that the sound he could hear above the roaring in his ears was Sam screaming his name, over and over, trying to reach him but apparently unable to. Dean narrowed his eyes, ignoring the black dots in his vision, and _fuck, no_ , Sam was holding his side and covered in blood, clearly in terrible pain, and Dean remembered then that they were all in danger and he tried to roll his eyes away to see what was happening with Castiel and the creature. 

But suddenly he couldn’t move them; he couldn’t move at all, not his arms or his legs or his fingers, and slowly everything started to slide away... the pain, the agonizing, desperate feeling not being able to breathe, the pounding in his head, the... the... _life..._

 _I’m dying,_ he thought, through the fog. 

_Again._

Everything went dark.

 

* * *

 

_“DEANNNNNNN!”_

Even as Sam yelled his brother’s name, he saw the light go out of his eyes. 

It was inevitable: from the instant Sam had looked over, still groggy, and seen the creature rip out his brother’s throat – leaving nothing but torn skin and muscles, arterial spray flying everywhere – he had known Dean was doomed. Nobody survived an injury like that; it was impossible. But maybe... but maybe if he somehow... if he... there had to be a way, there _had to._ Panic gripped him and he started trying haul himself across the floorboards, his own pain forgotten, but he couldn’t get his lower body to do what he wanted it to do. 

Then he remembered, belatedly, that Castiel was there. 

_He could heal Dean. He could bring him back._

But Castiel had his own problems. He had somehow managed to wriggle free of the creature’s grip – whatever it was, Sam still didn’t know – and they were fighting: kicking, punching, scratching, smashing. The thing was strong and fast, Sam could see that, but Castiel was furious and desperate, which gave him an edge. The creature slapped Castiel around the face and stepped back to kick him, but Castiel punched it in the stomach and folded it over, gasping; then he threw it back against the table, which shattered beneath the creature’s weight along with one of the chairs.

Castiel swooped to pick up a chair leg and rammed it into the creature’s chest, but it simply swept him aside – ripping three red stripes across his chest with its claws as it did so – and pulled the stake from its body without even flinching. Castiel recovered, grabbing the creature by the shoulder as he prepared to punch it in the face, but it heaved itself upright, grabbed Castiel by the neck and held him above its head as though he were nothing more than a doll.

Sam looked around him, desperate, and spotted the angel blade a few feet away. Grimacing, he pulled himself over to it using his elbows, grunting in pain. 

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember our special times together,” the creature was crowing, holding Castiel above its head defiantly, the angel’s back almost touching the cabin ceiling. “You weren’t quite with us back then, were ye, my lovely? But you were always worth the payment. Every dollar they charged, every spell they asked me for, you were worth it. I’ve lived a very, very long time and you were the only partner who could match me, and I include my own kind in that – they were always too fragile. That’s why I’m the only one left. They were delicious, all of them, but that’s the past. Now, what shall I do with ye? Do I feed on ye or do I fuck ye first? You’re a moveable feast, my wee laddie.”

The blade was suddenly in Sam’s palm and, somehow, he managed to catch Castiel’s eyes across the room. The thing had its back to Sam, which meant it didn’t see him hold up the blade and gesture to Castiel that he would throw it to him. Castiel noticed, however, and blinked to show he understood. 

“I think we need a trip down memory lane,” the creature said. “Whatever happened to that wonderful jewelry you used to wear? That collar was particularly fetching.”

Sam threw the blade and Castiel caught it nimbly. An eyeblink later and it was jammed into the creature’s side. 

It screamed. Castiel fell to the floor with thump as it clutched its side and pulled out the weapon, reacting as though the silver was burning its fingers. The blade came out coated in dark, thick blood and dropped to the ground; Castiel lunged for it, but the air suddenly _rippled_ and the creature disappeared.

A silence fell, broken only by the sound of Sam panting harshly. Castiel glanced across at him, not even out of breath, and then as one they both looked at Dean. 

“You have to help him,” Sam tried to say, but the words came out sounding more like one long, wailing sob.

Castiel was at Dean’s side seconds later, placing bloody hands on his neck in a vain, automatic attempt to control the bleeding, but it had already stopped. Dean lay crooked, his eyes staring at nothing in the corner of the room, and Sam felt grief fall upon him like a tsunami wave hitting land.

_No. He wasn’t going to allow this._

“You can heal him, right?” he gasped, pulling himself forward again, almost choking as pain blazed down his left side. 

Castiel’s hands were already on the wound and, even as the words left Sam’s lips, his palms began to glow. “I’m not sure. He’s dead, Sam. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resurrect a human these days.”

“You have to be, you can’t let it end like this!”

Castiel nodded, his forehead creasing. “I know. I _know_.”

Sam dragged himself to his brother’s side and watched, his heart in his mouth, as the glow of Castiel’s angelic healing completely covered Dean’s ragged, gruesome wound. Castiel’s head bowed and his shoulders slumped; he seemed to be concentrating harder than Sam had ever seen him concentrate, clearly throwing everything he had into the process, but a full minute later he suddenly gasped and pulled his hands back to reveal that absolutely nothing had changed.

“Why isn’t it working?” Sam hissed, sweating. “Please, Cas, you gotta do it!”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Castiel snapped, staring down at his bloody hands. “He’s gone, Sam, and it’s too much... but I’m not giving up, I _can’t_ , he needs me–” 

The glow sparked again and he placed his palms back in position, almost snarling from the effort, and Sam watched in growing horror as Castiel strained, face creasing in pain. Was it really too much for him? Were his powers really that diminished? Sam knew he’d brought people back before, but this Castiel was older now, had fallen from Heaven, had lost his wings, had been through more than Sam could imagine... Was he too weak?

No. He couldn’t be. 

“Please, please... Dean... come back to us,” he murmured, staring at his brother’s too-pale face. The light from Castiel’s hands glinted in his brother’s dead, staring eyes, and Sam felt tears falling onto his cheeks as he suddenly considered that maybe this wouldn’t work, maybe Dean really was dead this time... no, no, that couldn’t happen, it _couldn’t_...

Castiel made a strange, strangled noise and his body shuddered. Sam watched with wide eyes as the glow intensified and dimmed, pulsing – and then he could see Dean’s neck, still covered in blood but _whole again_. 

“It’s working!” he cried, feeling a thrill run through him, but Castiel’s response was merely an agonized cry. The glow brightened again and Castiel started to pant and gasp, clearly in pain, nearly doubled over as he leaned over Dean’s still form, but his powers seemed to be working; Dean’s face changed color as it filled with blood and then, just as Sam dared to hope– 

The glow faded. Castiel made an anguished, guttural sound before toppling sideways, hitting the floorboards with a sharp _crack_. 

Dean’s body arched off the floor as he heaved in a desperate, frenzied breath, his hands flying up to his throat.

“Dean?” Sam yelped, stunned.

His brother blinked up at him; it took a few seconds for his eyes to focus. 

“Sammy?” he croaked. “What... what just... did I _die?_ ”

Sam nodded, a grin spreading across his face that felt as though it was going to crack him open.

“Yeah,” he said, and slapped his brother on the shoulder. “You really have to stop doing that.”

 

* * *

 

Dean breathed in gulp after gulp of beautiful, incredible oxygen, marveling at how something so ordinary could feel so sensational, and he couldn’t help but swallow a few times, too, enjoying the feeling of... well, actually having a throat again. 

Sam leaned back and watched him, his face one big smile – but then, with a jolt of primal fear, Dean looked down and saw that his brother’s left side was coated in blood from his armpit to his thigh. 

“What the fuck, Sammy – are you okay?” he asked, sitting upright without a second thought. 

Sam followed Dean’s gaze and looked down at his side as though he hadn’t seen it before. “Oh... I don’t think it’s... I mean, it hurts, but... I hadn’t really...”

Dean looked around, suddenly wide awake, and registered for the first time that the creature was gone and Castiel was stone-cold unconscious beside him, his shirt and hands covered in blood. “Cas?” he said, scared, reaching out a hand and placing it on the angel’s neck. There was a pulse, but Castiel was dead to the world. Confused, Dean pulled back Castiel’s coat and saw three red lines had been ripped through his clothes. They weren’t bleeding too badly, but the ginger kitten on his t-shirt had been eviscerated.

“He healed you,” Sam explained, wincing as he tried to remove his own coat. “I think he used up his grace or something, it wiped him out.”

Ah. That would explain it. Dean swallowed down his concern for Castiel and turned back to his brother. “Great, so now he can’t heal _you._ Here, let me...” 

He pulled off Sam’s coat and opened his shirt, trying not to notice how Sam flinched. What he found underneath the fabric was concerning: mirroring the wounds on Castiel’s chest, he saw three huge gashes, all bleeding copiously, that ran down Sam’s left side and across to his navel. There was also a giant bruise peeking out from below his belt, red and sore-looking despite how young it was.

He whistled, recognizing that the gashes were claw marks. “You’re lucky it didn’t disembowel you.”

“Feels like it did,” Sam said, and Dean shot him a worried look because his voice was shaking. Sam noticed and smiled a wan, humorless smile. “Yeah, I guess I couldn’t feel it until just now. Had other things on my mind.”

Dean blinked, realizing – belatedly – that he’d just _died_ and Sam had watched it. Thank fuck Castiel had been there to heal him. He squeezed his brother’s arm supportively and looked around the cabin, suddenly wary. “Did Cas kill it?”

“He stabbed it and it vanished. Like, actually disappeared into thin air. I don’t think it died, though.”

“Great, so it could come back at any time? We need to get out of here, we’re in no shape to fight it. What was it, anyway?”

“It didn’t seem to be a demon, so that rules Amdusias out. But it knew Cas, so...” Sam stopped, swallowing, apparently embarrassed. 

Dean looked down at Castiel. Despite the blood coating the front of his shirt and his hands, his face was peaceful. What had that creature done to him in the past? Why couldn’t he remember it?

“He looks like he’s going to be bye-bye for a while,” Dean pondered, shelving that thought for now. “We need to get back to the car. Maybe I can carry him. Can you walk?”

Sam sighed. “No deal. It’s all I can do to sit upright. My... hip...” He reached down and patted his left thigh, hissing in a pained breath. “I think it’s broken or something, I’m not sure. I can barely move my leg.”

“Jesus, Sam.”

“Yeah.” Sam looked at his bloody hands. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, you idiot.” 

Dean’s heart was pounding and he felt weird – buzzed, energized, full of nervous movement. He assumed it was from the giant hit of angel healing mojo he’d just been given, and he was grateful for it, but... _distracting_. He took a steadying breath and thought hard: they were trapped in this cabin, Sam and Castiel were more or less out of commission, there was no way to get back to the car for more supplies, and there was something out there that wanted them dead. 

If Castiel had injured it, that was great news: maybe it had crept off to die somewhere. They could simply wait for Castiel to wake up, heal Sam and they’d all walk home. 

But if it hadn’t died...

“We need to protect ourselves,” he announced, and jumped to his feet. He removed his coat and then his shirt, handing it to his brother while he put his coat back on again. “Hold that against your side till I’m done.”

Sam took the shirt and obliged, watching mutely as Dean found his bag and started pulling out supplies: salt, holy oil, goofer dust, everything he had with him. He spent the next fifteen minutes trying to protect the cabin, concentrating hard on covering every corner despite having no idea if any of it was going to work against whatever this creature was.

“You need blood for sigils,” Sam declared, as Dean stepped back to look at his salt lines. “I can help with that.”

Dean studied him. “I guess it does seem kinda dumb for me to cut myself when you’re a human fountain pen.” 

“Anything to feel useful,” his brother grunted, wincing as he pulled Dean’s shirt away from his wounds. It was soaked through with blood. Dean took it, trying to hide his worried expression, then drew as many protection sigils as he could remember on the wooden walls and door before it dried, careful not to use any angelic glyphs that would keep Castiel from healing. After all, with Sam in such a mess he was their only hope of getting out of there.

Eventually the cabin was as safe as Dean could make it. He pulled a first-aid kit from Sam’s bag – thank heavens they were always so prepared, although he already knew it was too small to be much help – and then dug out a bottle of water. 

“Here, drink,” he ordered, thrusting it in Sam’s face. “And if water shoots out of the holes in your chest like a fountain, I’m not clearing it up.” 

Sam grimaced and took a big swig as Dean examined his side, gritting his teeth, wondering what to do. The wounds clearly needed stitching but he didn’t have a needle and thread: their kit was only rudimentary and everything else was in the Impala’s trunk. Maybe the owner of the cabin had something lying around? 

He rose and rummaged through the cupboards in the cabin’s kitchen area, but found nothing – although, to his immense surprise, there was actually running water when he tried the taps. He let them run for a while, clearing the pipes, then shook out some dusty cloths he found in a drawer and soaked them.

“Can you shuffle back to the wall?” he asked, returning to his brother. Sam nodded, took a deep breath and managed to move himself backwards by a few feet – but Dean didn’t fail to notice how the color drained from his face, or how sweat suddenly appeared on his forehead from the effort. 

“Okay,” he said as calmly as he could muster, kneeling by his side. Sam was leaning back on the wall, panting, and he didn’t meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m gonna clean you up now.”

“I think I need stitches,” Sam said, his voice strained.

“Yeah, and I need a burger and a foot-rub, but that ain’t gonna happen. I’m gonna bandage you as tight as I can and we’re just going to sit and wait until Cas wakes up and heals you. How you feeling?”

Sam swallowed, wincing as Dean tried to remove some of the blood by his ribs. “Sore.”

“I’ll bet. Feeling faint?”

“No.”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“Uh-huh. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Sam paused, then sighed. “Yeah.”

Despite everything, Dean grinned. “You’re such a dick.”

Sam snorted air through his nose, his head lolling sideways. “How long before Cas wakes up?” he murmured.

Dean shot a look at Castiel. “I have no idea. A few hours? A day?”

“He wasn’t sure he could bring you back,” Sam said quietly, closing his eyes. “It nearly killed him. It must have really drained him. When he wakes up he could be human for a while.”

“Guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” Dean muttered, concentrating on unwrapping a roll of bandages, then realized that the reason he was having difficulties was because it was getting dark. “Dammit, we need some lights in here. I saw some oil lamps in one of those cupboards – I hope whoever owns this place left some fuel for them.”

Sam didn’t answer. Dean glanced up at him and, with a jolt of worry, realized he’d passed out. 

“Get some sleep, Sammy,” he said soothingly, patting him on the cheek. 

As he bandaged his brother, he kept checking behind him. He didn’t like being the only one awake with that thing on the loose; it was making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Was it creeping up on him? Was it going to pounce the second he wasn’t paying attention? 

Tying off Sam’s bandages, he turned and picked up Castiel’s sword, wiping the dark, sticky blood from the blade and sticking it through his belt. If that thing was badly injured, hopefully he wouldn’t have to use it. 

One thing was certain, however: whatever happened with the creature, none of them were going anywhere for a while. 

 

* * *

 

Sam was cold. 

He woke to the uncomfortable sensation of his own teeth chattering. He sat for a few moments, shivering, wondering why the hell he was upright and not lying down, but then he forgot everything else as the pain from his left hip and wounded side finally hit him. 

With a gasp, his eyes snapped open and he blinked for a little while, trying to orient himself, and after what seemed like an eternity it all came back to him.

Wincing – wow, his hip really fucking _hurt_ – he looked around. It was dark outside and there were several oil lamps dotted around the cabin, bathing it in a golden glow. However, he could hear birdsong from the forest, and a quick glance at his watch told him that dawn was almost due. He’d been unconscious all night in the same position: no wonder he felt so stiff and sore!

He twisted to the left and saw Castiel lying motionless on the floor a few feet away: he’d been rolled onto his back and a cushion was now under his head. Dean had clearly been looking after him. 

Groggily, Sam suddenly wondered why he couldn’t see his brother. 

“Dean?” he said, his voice too loud in the silent cabin.

There was no response. Sam leaned forward with a small groan, peering into the corners of the room. The light wasn’t great, but he could see enough to notice that Dean wasn’t sitting on any of the chairs or the bed. Had he gone outside for some reason? There wasn’t a bathroom in the cabin, so he’d have to relieve himself somewhere... _Or had the creature taken him?_

Somehow, although it seemed impossible, Sam felt colder. Grimacing, he shuffled further forward, moving a foot or two away from the wall that had been supporting him, and that was when he finally saw his brother lying on the floor by the door. 

“ _Dean!_ ” he hissed, horrified.

It hurt, it really fucking hurt, but somehow Sam made it over to him, dragging himself across the floorboards with his arms. He was out of breath by the time he arrived at Dean’s side, but that didn’t matter: all that mattered was that Dean was unconscious, face-down and spreadeagled as though he’d passed out from a standing position. There was a small pool of blood under his forehead and, holding his breath in fear, Sam moved him and found a cut just above his right eye. He’d clearly cut himself as he’d fallen, but the bleeding had already stopped. 

How long had Dean been lying here? What had happened? 

Sam shook him, saying his name over and over, but Dean was out cold.

But something was going on with him. With a start, Sam saw that Dean’s eyes were moving rapidly under the lids, far too quickly for him to be dreaming – there was something unnatural about it. He reached out shaking fingers and lifted his eyelids, discovering nothing but white beneath them; Dean’s eyes had rolled up into his head.

What the hell was this? Was he having a seizure of some kind? 

“Dean!” he hissed again, desperate, and shook him harder. There was no response. Dean’s fingers were twitching now, too, and his breathing was speeding up as though he was having a terrible nightmare.

_What the hell was happening?_

“Wake up!” Sam ordered, and – unsure of what else to do – he slapped him. Nothing. Dean’s eyes continued to dance under his eyelids, his body stiff and awkward as he lay on the wooden floor. Sam stared down at him helplessly, feeling waves of cold sweat pour down his back, trying to ignore the pain from his side. 

Was this some kind of reaction to the fact Dean had nearly died? Had Castiel’s healing failed somehow? 

...Or maybe the creature had attacked him. Hadn’t all the victims suffered fainting spells in the days leading up to their suicides?

Perhaps the creature had returned and injured him in some way. Sam leaned over, checking his brother’s torso for injuries, and it was at that very moment that Dean suddenly jerked awake.

 

* * *

 

He was on the floor. Why was he on the floor? Why was Sam leaning over him, his face a mask of worry? What the–?

“Sam?” Dean gasped, frowning up at his brother. “Hey, what... what’s goin’ on?”

“Are you okay?” his brother asked frantically, placing a hand on his neck. 

Dean blinked, confused. His head was buzzing. Why was it buzzing? What was that... that _sound_? But then it died, and everything seemed to slide into normality again. 

“Why am I on the floor?” he asked, baffled.

“You tell me. I found you here. Did the creature come back? Did it attack you?”

Dean concentrated hard, trying to recall, but he couldn’t come up with an answer. “I don’t remember... seeing anything. I don’t remember anything.”

Sam removed his hand. “Your pulse is racing, but there isn’t a mark on you. Does your throat hurt?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Why? Am I getting the flu?”

“No, you idiot. Because it got ripped out a few hours ago. Maybe Cas’s healing mojo is... un-mojo-ing.”

Dean rubbed his neck, swallowing. “Feels fine. I feel fine. Just a bit confused.” He sat up, rubbing his forehead; his fingers came away bloody. “Ow.”

Sam grimaced in sympathy. “You banged your head when you fell. Guess there’s no shortage of blood in here today.”

Dean looked around the cabin, noting that it was much lighter now. The last thing he remembered, it had been pitch black outside. How long had he been lying there? And Sam... Sam was here, when he should be resting. In fact, how had he made it over to his side from across the room? He couldn’t walk – he’d injured his hip! Had he crawled? He was too badly hurt to be doing shit like that. 

“You shouldn’t be moving around,” he told him, suddenly annoyed. 

Sam scowled. “Weird thing, Dean: when you wake up to find you’re the only one conscious and your brother’s lying flat-out on the floor on the other side of the room, you kind of want to go and see what’s wrong with him.”

Dean took a moment to consider that, then nodded. “I see your point.” He glanced over at Castiel, who lay still and silent. “I don’t get it, though. Were we all passed-out at once for a while there?”

“Dean, I think maybe the creature got to you, somehow. It looked like you fainted. That’s what happened to its victims.”

It was a valid observation. Dean rubbed a hand down his face as he thought about it. “If that’s true, then it should be happening to you, too. It clawed both of us, after all. And Cas as well, though I guess he may be immune.”

Sam sighed. “I have no idea if me passing out last night was down to the creature or... well, blood loss.”

Dean eyed him scientifically. “Looked like blood loss to me.”

“Yeah, that’s how it felt.”

“Speaking of which, you need to drink something. Wait here.” He climbed to his feet, wincing as he felt some new bruises – why didn’t abandoned cabins ever have carpets? He pulled a bottle of water out of his bag and handed it to his brother, then went over to the sink to wash blood off his hands. 

There was a small mirror above the basin and he stared at the small cut on his forehead ruefully, annoyed with himself for... for whatever had happened. _Why was he so useless?_ All he’d had to do was look after Sam, for crying out loud. He couldn’t even do that properly! His brother had woken up alone and injured while Dean had been taking forty winks without a care in the world. _You’re hopeless. You’re useless. You don’t even know why Sam bothers with you. Maybe you should–_

...Dean pulled in a breath, shocked. Where had that train of thought come from? 

“Hey, Cas is waking up,” Sam called.

In a heartbeat, Dean forgot about it and darted across the cabin to join him. Castiel was pulling himself up onto his elbows, grunting a little from the effort. Relieved to see him awake, Dean shook his hands free of water and reached out to steady him – but before he knew it Castiel made a plaintive, anguished sound and pulled him into a tight, desperate hug. 

“You’re alive,” Castiel gasped in his ear.

“Thanks to you,” Dean replied, squeezing his eyes shut. “What would I do without you, Cas?”

Castiel shuddered, digging his fingers in Dean’s back almost painfully. Dean didn’t flinch; Castiel was understandably freaked. Maybe he’d passed out before knowing if Dean had come back or not. “Hey, its okay,” he whispered, kissing his neck. 

“I had no idea I could do that any more, Dean,” Castiel growled, his voice strained. “I was terrified it wouldn’t work. You were _dead_.”

Dean rubbed a comforting hand down his back, realizing how horrible that must have been. “It’s okay, it’s done now. You were strong enough. You always are.” He pulled away, looking him up and down. “How are you feeling?”

Castiel stared at him, unblinking, for a few moments – seemingly assuring himself that yes, Dean was alive and he wasn’t imagining him – and then he looked down at himself. 

“I’m tired,” he said, slumping a little. “And I ache.”

Dean nodded. “Figures. You strained yourself. Look, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but do you have any healing mojo left? Sam got pretty banged up, too.”

Castiel looked over at Sam, who was staring at them from the floor on the other side of the cabin, his face pale. 

“I don’t think so,” Castiel said, voice filled with regret. He raised a hand and stared down at it. “I think I’m... human. Mostly. For now.”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Now you’re awake, there’s more of us to keep an eye out for that creature. We can stay safe until you’re back to full strength.”

“Have you seen it again?” Castiel asked.

“Nada,” Dean said quickly. “Look, we need to get Sam onto that bed and off the floor. He’s hurt, Cas. Help me lift him.”

He reached out a hand and helped Castiel to his feet, but the moment their palms touched Dean sensed that something was wrong. He couldn’t feel that strange, shimmering _power_ that usually thrummed from Castiel’s body: a feeling he’d become so used to, it felt like normality. It was like listening to white noise all the time, and without it Castiel felt... naked. 

But the angel didn’t seem to notice Dean’s reaction, and Dean tried not to think about it as they walked over to Sam and, as gently as possible, helped him onto the mattress. Sam swallowed down a cry of pain as they moved him, and Dean felt nausea churning in his stomach. He hated that he couldn’t do anything to help. 

Dammit, he _really_ needed to get to the Impala. They had morphine in there, for Pete’s sake. Was there any way he could get back to the car without leaving Sam and Castiel exposed? There had to be, surely? He made a decision.

“I’m gonna go back to the car,” he declared, placing a cushion under Sam’s head. “We need supplies.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Sam said, scowling at him.

“I’ll be fine. That thing is injured, it’s daylight and we don’t have any other choice. You need more bandages and we need more weapons.”

Sam glared at him. “Tell Cas what just happened, Dean.”

Castiel shot him a worried look. “What just happened?”

Dean sighed. “Apparently I passed out last night. I don’t remember it, but it’s how I got this.” He pointed at the cut on his forehead.

Castiel reached out and touched it gently. Then he pulled his hand away, looking awkward, and Dean realized he’d been trying to make it disappear. _No mojo._

“He can’t go anywhere if he keeps passing out,” Sam said.

“I did it one time!” Dean protested. 

“Did you heal him properly?” Sam asked Castiel. “Maybe it was some kind of residual side-effect.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “No. You were fully healed, Dean. Did the creature attack you? Its victims also suffered with fainting spells.”

Damn, he’d put that together quickly. “I can’t remember anything,” Dean said, shrugging, feeling awkward and defensive under all this attention. “I just woke up on the floor.”

“Do you feel okay?”

Dean nodded, squeezing Castiel’s arm. “Fine. Don’t worry about me, it could have been anything.”

Castiel studied him suspiciously. “We have no idea what has happened to the creature, you are possibly afflicted with whatever it did to its other victims, we can’t leave with Sam in this condition, I have none of my powers and we are in the middle of a forest with no help imminent. Given our current situation, I think worrying is the correct course of action.”

Dean looked down at his brother. “Nobody can cut through all the crap like Cas, huh?” 

Sam managed a wan smile. He was sweating and his eyes were bright; Dean really didn’t like the look of that. At least there was no blood soaking through the bandages he’d wrapped around him last night, but they were the only ones he had, and Sam’s injuries would need cleaning again at some point. If they got infected... 

“How long do you think it’ll be until you’re charged up again?” he asked, turning to Castiel. He hated being this mercenary, but really, he was their only hope.

“A day, perhaps,” Castiel offered, though he looked anxious. “Maybe more. I’m not sure.”

“We can hang on until then,” Dean declared, as brightly as he could. “But now I need to ask the million-dollar question. That thing seemed to know you, Cas. How?”

Castiel’s eyes seemed to unfocus. He fell silent for a few moments, then sat on the bed, taking care that his weight didn’t move the mattress and disturb Sam. 

“It doesn’t really make sense,” he said, and looked down at his wrists. Dean swallowed, recognizing that he was thinking about the manacles that had once sat there. “The creature had a certain... magic. I knew it. I’ve been around it before. But my memories are... confused.”

“You told me once that you remembered everything about what happened to you,” Dean said, gently. “How could you forget someone you were with?”

“I feel as though...” Castiel paused, apparently searching for the right words, then finished, “...we have met, but not _here._ ”

“Not here?” Sam asked, frowning. “What does that mean?”

Castiel shook his head. “I can’t explain it. I don’t recognize its form. But I feel as though we have spent time together. It wasn’t in that... room, though. But I could be wrong.”

A silence fell as they tried to figure out what on Earth that meant. 

“So we don’t know anything, then,” Sam said with a sigh. 

“I know one thing,” Dean announced. “I’m starving.”

 

* * *

 

They ate some of the food in Dean’s bag – not that he’d brought much, and none of it was particularly nutritionally useful, as Sam rather grumpily pointed out – and the morning wore on. There was no sign of the creature. Although he couldn’t remember anything about the circumstances of how he’d passed out the previous night, Dean was heartened to think that he hadn’t seen the creature before that, and it hadn’t surfaced today, so perhaps that meant it was dead or seriously injured. 

Of course, if it _had_ appeared from nowhere and attacked him and he couldn’t remember it, that was worrying, to say the least. But the fact it hadn’t then killed Sam or Castiel while Dean lay unconscious was a sign that maybe it hadn’t been there at all. 

Either way, all they could do was wait, and so they waited. Sam fell asleep and Castiel sat beside him, keeping watch, while Dean walked circles around the cabin, checking on the wards and peering through the windows. It was still raining and there was something hypnotic about watching the mist weaving through the trees, although Dean kept wondering what the route back to the car was going to be like when they finally could make it. At this rate, it would be nothing but a swamp.

The only good news was that in this weather, nobody was going to come out here on a hike and get hurt. Of course, a rescue from other hunters would be nice, but there wasn’t a phone signal for miles. 

“I’m bored,” he sighed after a while, and shot a look over at Castiel.

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do about it,” Castiel said.

Dean grinned. “I can think of a few things, but, y’know, Sam’s here.”

Castiel looked down at Sam and then back up at Dean. “Even if he wasn’t, it’s probably not a good idea to be so distracted when we’re under threat.”

“Ugh, you’re so rational all the time, Cas. It’s annoying.”

“I’m sure it is.” Castiel looked down at his hands. Dean watched, frowning, as he traced a finger along his wrist.

“Hey! Don’t do that.”

Castiel looked up at him, startled. “Do what?”

“That. That weird habit you have of stroking your wrists like the manacles are still on them. It’s creepy, Cas.”

Castiel gazed at his wrist as though he hadn’t seen it before. “I didn’t even realize I was doing it.”

Dean shrugged. “I don’t think you ever do. But it can’t be good for you.”

Castiel pulled the sleeve of his shirt down. “You’re always looking out for other people, Dean.”

“Comes with the job,” Dean said, winking at him. “And I watch out for some people more than others.”

“Yes,” said Castiel, and he opened his mouth to say something else, but suddenly Dean wasn’t there any more.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

 _Everything was gray – the ground, the sky, even Dean. He looked down at his hands and they were ash-colored, and then he looked beyond them and realized that he was naked. He was naked and standing... somewhere... but it didn’t make sense: there were corners to the space he was in, but they were bent and twisted and didn’t seem substantial enough to be a room. There were jagged, scorched things that could have once been trees dotted around and, far off in the distance,_ beyond _the corners, there was something that looked like a lake. Its water – if it was water – was the color of mercury, silver and ribbed with dark streaks._

_None of the dimensions around him worked. As Dean stared in amazement he felt twisted and broken, as though he’d been slotted into one of those weird, brain-twisted Escher drawings. Even the air in his lungs felt too warm and slimy, as if it was tainted by the very not-rightness of where he was. He could smell tar and smoke. It made him nauseous._

_“What the fuck?” he spluttered. Was he hallucinating? This didn’t feel like a dream, but he’d had some crazy alternate-reality experiences in his life and it didn’t feel like those, either. He looked down at his hands again, rubbing his fingers together – they felt greasy – and then suddenly a bright light shone from his palm as he moved, leaving a trail behind it._

_“Lucy in the sky with diamonds,” he muttered, and looked up again. Had he been drugged? Where the hell was he?_

_He turned, blinking slowly, and came face-to-face with the creature._

_“Hello again, Dean,” it said._

_It didn’t say it through its mouth. In fact, it was barely in any kind of form Dean recognized; it was a shimmering, writhing mass that was half-mist, half... half-tentacles, maybe? He couldn’t tell, but it felt Lovecraftian and insane – even staring at it made his eyes ache. But somehow he knew it was the thing from the cabin. Perhaps it was the voice, or the dark, smoke-spewing hole in its side that confirmed that it was injured._

_And then Dean remembered he was naked, and his whole body lit up with embarrassment despite the danger of his situation._

_“Where the fuck am I?” he snapped, automatically lowering his hands to cover his crotch._

_The creature tilted what could possibly have been its head, studying him. A second later, the shape rearranged itself into an amorphous blob. “You’re in my home,” it said. “The realm of the Sluagh. I am the last of their kind, and I’m hungry.”_

_That meant nothing to him, so Dean summoned some bravado to cover his ignorance. “Yeah, well, if you’re gonna eat me I can assure you my diet is pretty crappy. I’ll just go straight to your hips.”_

_The Sluagh chuckled. “You’re adorable,” it said, and something left its side – a wing, perhaps? – and caressed Dean’s arm. He jerked away, disgusted, but it followed him and hovered menacingly above his skin._

_“How did you kill all those people?” Dean asked, because if he kept this thing talking it wouldn’t eat him. Yet._

_“I showed them how the world of mortals is meaningless. How they are meaningless. And I bled them of their anguish.”_

_“That sounds fun,” Dean said, taking a step backwards. “Any chance you could skip all that in my case and let me go?”_

_“They were pathetic,” the Sluagh said, and something inside it rustled alarmingly. “Your anguish is... so much more. You have suffered more than any mortal I’ve met. And there’s even more to ye than that.”_

_Something smoky and wriggling gestured off to the side and Dean followed it with his eyes, bracing himself, only to be confronted with a vision that astounded him. It was a large square – a box, possibly, about the size of the Impala’s trunk – but it was semi-transparent, ghostly, made of sparking, glimmering white-gold with symbols scrawled upon every inch. Curious, drawn to it by some sense of familiarity despite knowing that he’d never seen it before in his life, Dean went over to it and stared, utterly confused._

_“What is it?” he asked, sensing the Sluagh arriving at his side. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the box. He couldn’t see what was inside it, despite how see-through it seemed, but he knew it was full to the brim with... something. How? How was it so familiar?_

_“You tell me,” said the Sluagh. “The symbols are Enochian, though I don’t know them. But I do need to know what’s inside. I think it may be_ delicious _.”_

_“Where did it come from?” Dean asked, desperately wanting to touch it. He didn’t, however. Something about it terrified him._

_“Your mind.” It made a noise that sounded like a sigh. “I already showed you this, Dean. I hope I don’t have to repeat myself every time you visit. Talk about tedious.”_

_Dean turned to look at it, shocked, but there wasn’t really a face to look at – just a mess of black feathers and twigs. “I don’t understand what’s happening here,” he said, suddenly feeling weary. “Please tell me what’s happening.”_

_“It’s the end of ye,” said the Sluagh matter-of-factly, and as it spoke a strange, haunting piece of music started to play, seemingly from nowhere. It sounded like something you’d hear while riding an old-fashioned merry-go-round at a fair; a carousel tune played on an organ, a looped piece of music that grated and whined. Dean placed his hands over his ears, repulsed._

_“You’re going to die,” the creature continued, and despite his hands Dean could hear its voice perfectly, echoing around the music in his head. “That’s what’s happening, Dean Winchester. I shall feed off ye until I am healed, and then you will die, and then ye wee baby brother will also perish. Then I will take your filthy angel whore and, every day until the end of things, I shall feast on his loss and despair at losing you. I’ve seen inside your head, mortal, and I’ve seen inside his, and I know what you are to each other. An angel and a human, in love! I’m surprised the legions of Heaven haven’t destroyed you both.”_

_“They’re too busy killing each other,” Dean said without thinking._

_“That’s as may be, but all I care about is one angel,” said the creature, and it rippled before Dean’s eyes, curling into smoke and ash particles, vibrating. “Castiel will nourish me for centuries. All that sadness, all that guilt. Nothing will ever taste as fine, and I know because I have feasted on him before, when he merely anguished over his own pain. To anguish over another’s is even more delicious. As you are the steak on my plate, he is the fine wine.”_

_“Yeah, that all sounds peachy,” Dean growled, not quite taking in all the words as he was still trying to block out the awful, juddering carnival music. “Why don’t you just stop yammering and get started, you sick sonofabitch?”_

_“My problem lies in where to start,” the Sluagh said, reaching out a tendril to Dean’s face. It rested under his chin and jerked his head upwards. “Last time I fed from the day your dear Mama barbecued so beautifully on the ceiling. What’s on today’s menu, I wonder?”_

_And before Dean could even consider what the hell that meant, the creature was suddenly wrapped around him, cocooning him in its weird, unsettling form, hot and cold and jagged and smooth all at once, a suffocating blanket of terror and malice. Dean opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out, just a strangled, terrified gasp, and then, with no warning, there was something inside his head, something ice-cold and burning, yanking and pulling on his memories with excruciating deliberation._

_“Stop... stop!” he managed to choke out, and then he felt a wave of satisfaction from the Sluagh and..._

“SAMMMMMMM!”

He was running towards his brother, Bobby trying to keep up behind him, but it was too late, he already knew it – Sammy had been stabbed in the back, the kid who’d done it running for his life as Dean fell to his knees in the freezing mud, calling Sam’s name and holding him for all he was worth, telling him he was going to be okay, praying for him to be okay... 

But Sam was... Sam was... Sam was dead, he was dead, he was dead in Dean’s arms and it was too late, his brother was dead, no, this couldn’t be happening, how could his little brother be dead? He held him, he wept, he howled, but there was no undoing it – Sam was dead, and how could Dean go on without him?

_It didn’t matter that the memory was old; he relived the night in Cold Oak as the music played and the Sluagh drank from him, feeding off his pain, and when it all ended the Sluagh made him relive it again, and again, and then again, and Dean couldn’t do anything except shudder and weep as it squeezed him so hard it felt as though his bones would crack..._

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

“NO!”

Dean woke with a harsh cry, fighting and struggling to get free of the thing that was wrapped around him. But the feeling of being stifled was gone a moment later and he realized that he was simply lying in Castiel’s arms on the floor of the cabin, the sun shining on his face. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Castiel was saying, holding him gently but firmly, as Dean stared around him in a mind-numbing horror that rapidly turned into confusion. 

What the hell? What was going on?

He must have mumbled the words without realizing, because Castiel placed a hand on his cheek and stared down at him calmly. “You’re safe, it’s fine,” he said, and met Dean’s eyes. “You fainted. You... went somewhere. I don’t know where. Can you remember? Is it still in your mind?”

Dean stared up at him, breathing hard, battling to remember... what was it? Where had he been? 

There was nothing there. 

“No,” he gasped, after a pause, shaking his head. “No, I can’t... it was... I was sad, I remember being sad, but... no. I don’t remember. What’s happening? What’s happening to me, Cas?”

Castiel’s face fell, and then he leaned over and kissed him softly on the lips. “I’m not sure,” he murmured, stroking Dean’s hair from his forehead. “But we’ll figure it out.”

 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

Dean didn’t feel right. 

It wasn’t really a surprise: he’d fainted twice now, after all, and it almost certainly had something to do with that creature who’d already killed a load of people by driving them to suicide. Which must explain why his thoughts kept wandering into places he usually wouldn’t let them travel: doubts, guilt, worries, things he that he pondered from time to time but never with such frequency. Whatever that thing had done to him, it was messing with his brain, and that seriously had him pissed.

And then there was the music.

He could hear it faintly, just on the edge of his hearing, like a mosquito buzzing around the room that you couldn’t see. It sounded like music you’d hear at a fairground, but creepy and muffled, like an old vinyl record covered in dust. He managed to ignore it for long stretches but the moment he let his guard down, there it was, wailing away. 

It was that, more than the fainting, that made him realize he was suffering what the suicide victims had suffered. When he told Sam and Castiel, he saw the worry on their faces and it made him feel even worse. Sam, in particular, had enough to deal with right now.

“I don’t understand,” his brother said, his hand resting on his side as though it was hurting him – which it probably was. Sam was still frighteningly pale and his movements were restless and jerky; sweat still shone from his skin. Dean knew the onset of a fever when he saw one, but he kept quiet about it, as Sam did, too. Castiel would be better soon. He’d heal him. They’d all get out of here and go home and everything would be fine.

_Or maybe Castiel could carry Sam back to the car and Dean could stay as bait for the creature. It was only fair – he’d got them into this mess, after all; it was all his fault, everything always was. They wouldn’t miss him if he died. Of course they wouldn’t! Why would they? He was just Dean, there was nothing special about him, they didn’t love him..._

“It is difficult to comprehend,” Castiel was saying, as Dean concentrated on ignoring the voice in his head. “Whatever this creature is, it takes its victims to another realm and seems to do something to them there before releasing them again – changed.”

“I don’t get how you know I was ‘in another realm’,” Dean snapped, exasperated. “I can’t remember anything! I was just unconscious.”

“You weren’t _here,_ Dean,” said Castiel. “I could tell. Your essence, your soul, was somewhere else.”

“How can you sense my soul if you haven’t got your grace?” Dean demanded.

Castiel glared at him. “I may be weakened, Dean, but some things are obvious.”

“You did look weird,” Sam offered, weakly. “I agree with Cas. You weren’t here.”

“And I think that explains why the creature feels so familiar,” Castiel mused, folding his arms. “I, too, have been in that realm. I must have met the creature before and it took me there, but, like you, I can’t remember anything.”

Dean rubbed his temples, trying to ignore the crazy clown music. “So what is it, Cas? What kind of creature lives in another realm and kidnaps victims? We’ve met some weird, dimension-hopping weirdos before, but nothing fits this one’s M.O.”

Castiel seemed to be thinking hard. Sam looked at him expectantly, and Dean noticed that his brother was trembling a little. Without thinking, he took off his coat and placed it over him. 

“Here.”

Sam looked surprised. “I’m not cold.”

Dean placed a hand on his forehead; it was suspiciously hot. “Yeah, I can tell. But you’re feverish, so you’ll be cold soon enough.”

His brother clenched his jaw, annoyed. “Stop fussing over me, Dean.”

“You’re injured, you maniac. You need fussing over.”

“And you’re being kidnapped by a monster and taken into another realm every few hours so it can try to make you suicidal. I’d say we’re equal.”

 _Sam doesn’t care about you, Dean,_ said the voice in his head. _Nobody cares about you. You are a waste of space, a waste of time, a waste of everything. You should just die. They would be happier without you._

Dean twitched as the music in his head pulsed and grew louder. He looked away, staring out of the nearest window at the unexpected sunshine, trying to get a grip on his thoughts.

“It’s one of the Sluagh,” Castiel said suddenly, unfolding his arms and straightening. 

“One of the what?” Sam asked.

“Sluagh. It’s hard to define them, but the nearest way to describe them is that they are Dark Faerie.”

Dean shook his head, waiting for him to continue. “Dark Faerie what?”

“Just Dark Faerie.” 

“We’ve met fairies before,” Sam observed. “They were nothing like this one.”

Castiel’s face hardened. “The Sluagh are said to be the souls of wicked humans run amok. They are evil and powerful – their magic is among the most ancient on Earth, which would explain why it was able to overpower an angel. And they live in another reality – a reality that would drive an ordinary mortal to madness.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Okay, so suddenly I’m glad I can’t remember it.”

“It told you it was the only one left,” Sam said.

“Yes,” said Castiel. He frowned, his eyes far away. “This is bad. If it truly killed all others of its kind, it would have absorbed their powers. It must be immeasurably strong.”

“Then why is it killing a bunch of innocent schoolteachers and accountants in Oregon?” Dean asked. “Hasn’t it got anything better to do?”

Castiel shook his head. “I don’t know. But it stands to reason that it would have to feed from time to time. Perhaps it has found a way to nourish itself.” 

He stared at Dean, so intently that Dean almost took a step backwards. “What?” he asked, rattled.

_Castiel hates you. Look at him. He loathes the sight of you. You should leave him. Forever._

“I think I know how it got you, Dean,” Castiel said, as Dean swallowed and tried to control his breathing. 

Castiel didn’t hate him. Of course he didn’t.

“H-how?” he said, his mouth suddenly dry.

“When I healed you, I had the creature’s blood on my hands. I must have accidentally transferred some of it into your wound. It infected you.”

“So it wasn’t from its claws?” Dean declared, and a wave of relief swept over him. “That’s great – it means Sam’s okay. It’s only got to me.”

Castiel looked guilt-stricken. “I’m so sorry, Dean, this is my fault. I hesitated and allowed it to attack you, and I should have thought of its blood before I touched you.”

Despite everything, Dean laughed. “Cas, you _brought me back from the freakin’ dead._ I think I can forgive the fact you didn’t wash and sterilize your hands first.”

Castiel tilted his head, looking pained, and – in what was also a _fuck you_ to the voice in his head – Dean leaned over and kissed him, rubbing a palm down his cheek. 

“Hey! It’s fine. We’ll beat this. We always do.”

“Yes, we do,” Castiel agreed, but he still looked upset. 

_He doesn’t love you, Dean._

Dean had to look away again, biting his lip, before Castiel noticed the look on his face.

“We must find a way to stop it,” Castiel announced, thankfully oblivious. “We’re lucky that my angel blade was able to injure it – I suspect that means the blade can also kill it. But for now, it’s injured and hiding. The only reason it can have to keep taking Dean is because it’s feeding from him to regain its strength. Once it’s strong enough, it will come for us.”

“But how is it feeding from me?” Dean asked, shrugging. “I don’t get it. I feel fine – I mean, I have this weird music goin’ on, and I’m a little... distracted, but I’m not even sleepy. It’s not doing anything to me that I can really notice.”

“Maybe it’s gradual,” Sam offered. “It can only take a little at a time.”

“Sam could be right. It will whittle away at you, piece by piece.”

Dean sighed. “Well, doesn’t that sound fun.” He sat down on a chair and put his head in his hands. _They want you dead,_ said the voice, but he ignored it. “Look, is there any way I can, I dunno, train myself to remember what happens when I’m with it? Maybe I can find out something. A weakness. Anything that could help.”

“I’m not sure,” said Castiel, thoughtfully. “The Sluagh managed to wipe my memory, and I can remember everything I have ever experienced... up to a point. It would clearly have no difficulty erasing the mind of a human after every time it visited.”

They fell silent, contemplating this. Then Sam said, “Try humming a song.”

“I’ve got enough problems trying to ignore the one already in my head, Sam.”

Sam moved to sit up, but then grimaced as his wounds made their presence felt. Dean watched and waited as he recovered himself before saying, “No, look – if you go in there humming a song you love, something you’ll remember both here _and_ there, it might drown out the other one and ground you in reality. It could help you to remember what you’re seeing. Pick a song – we’ll ask you to hum it when you get back. You never know, it’s worth a try.”

Dean looked at Castiel, who shrugged. “It could work,” the angel allowed. “Human minds work in strange ways.”

“I don’t want to take a song I love into that place,” Dean said, pulling a face. “It could ruin it forever.”

“Then pick one you hate,” Sam suggested. “Or a stupid song. Like... like... I dunno, _Everything Is Awesome_.”

Dean snorted. “Come on, Sam – I love _The Lego Movie_. You can’t expect me to destroy all my happy memories of that film forever.”

“Yes, but you have to admit it’s going to stay in your head no matter what, right?”

Sam had a good point. It was already in Dean’s brain, contrasting rather badly with the weird carnival music that was hissing in his ears.

“What’s with the music, anyway?” Dean asked, turning to Castiel. “Are these faeries supposed to be musicians?”

Castiel shook his head. “I have no idea. According to the lore, they hail from Ireland and Scotland. Perhaps the music is something traditional that follows it wherever it goes.”

Dean shuddered. “Well, whatever the reason, it’s really getting on my–”

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

_He was back._

_Everything was gray and nothing made sense: the broken trees, the silver-liquid lake, the vile smell of burning tar that also, Dean realized, tasted of blood. This time, however, he remembered where he was, and he turned expectantly to see the Sluagh, who was studying him from a short distance away, its current form nothing but a swirl of ash and twigs._

_“Hey,” Dean said. “Nice place you have here.”_

_“You remember now. Good.”_

_Dean looked down at his naked body and covered his crotch; his hands left a strange white light behind them as they moved. “Look, if you’re gonna keep bringing me here, could you at least whip me up some clothes? This is kinda embarrassing.”_

_“You are such an odd little thing.”_

_“Hey! It’s cold. No judging.”_

_The creature made a strange noise that Dean realized, after a few seconds, was a laugh. It whirled closer to him and the music increased in volume, making Dean’s teeth clench. It was screeching and all-consuming and he couldn’t turn it off._

__Everything is awesome, _he thought._ Everything is cool when you’re part of a team... __

_“I want to know what’s in the box.”_

_Dean blinked and looked behind him. The chest was there, bursting with sparks like molten gold being poured, and he felt a bolt of fear run through him. What the fuck was_ in _that thing?_

_“Yeah, well, I get the feeling it’s better off left alone,” he said. “Stop being so nosy.”_

_Something struck him hard around the face, and he fell to his knees, stunned._

_“This is a joke to ye, is it?”_

_Dean raised a hand to his nose, which was bleeding. The blood looked black in the surreal gray light of this realm. He didn’t answer, trying to steady his breathing in the weird, greasy air._

_“I am older than ye will ever know,” the Sluagh said, rippling in front of him like a silent tornado. Dean looked up at it, gulping, tasting blood. “I am more powerful than even your angel. He once begged me to take him, do you know that? Has he remembered? He wanted me to burn inside him, to give him warmth and life. It was pitiful, but he was oh-so-delicious. I will never forget.”_

__I have to remember this, _Dean thought, swallowing down his fear and disgust._ Everything is awesome... everything is cool when you’re part of a team... __

_The Sluagh sent out an eerie, leaf-strewn tentacle and brushed Dean’s chest with it. “You have so much grief for me to take, I can taste it already. What shall we share, Dean Winchester? So many deaths. I see them all. Bobby Singer – he was like a father to you, wasn’t he? And then the women; so many women. Charlie. Ellen. Jo. Pam. You had to say goodbye to a son, too, didn’t you? Little Ben, who forgot all about you.”_

_“He wasn’t my son,” Dean snapped, suddenly terrified that this creature would find Lisa and Ben and hurt them in some way. For a moment, a brief, unexpected moment, he felt the rush of grief he’d experienced when he’d asked Castiel to wipe their memories of him, but he swallowed it down. He didn’t want to relive that again. He didn’t want to relive anything._

_The creature hissed and its shape became a vaguely human-like figure. “You can’t hide anything from me, Dean. The only thing you can hide is what’s in that box. Tell me.”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_The tentacle hovering over his chest suddenly snapped back. A second later it hit Dean so hard in the stomach that he folded over, gagging, blinded by pain._

_“Don’t lie to me, mortal!”_

_“I don’t know!” Dean gasped, furious. “It’s just a box! I have no fucking idea why it’s in my head!”_

_“Why would Castiel seal off a part of your mind?” the Sluagh demanded, and something resembling a foot shoved Dean backwards. He lay staring up at the sky, fighting for breath, momentarily distracted by black dots swooping and curling in the gray blankness. Were they crows? Were there crows here, in this barren, lifeless place?_

_The Sluagh waited a few moments, then pulled him upright again, tentacles twisting painfully on his wrists. “Look at me, Dean Winchester.”_

_Dean looked. There was a patch on the creature’s side that was dark and leaking a thick, black fog. It was a little smaller than it had been the last time – the Sluagh was healing its knife wound. He had to remember that. “Everything is awesome,” he sang without thinking. “Everything is cool if you’re part of a team... Everything is awesome when you’re living out a dream...”_

_“What are ye doing?” the Sluagh asked, sounding baffled._

_“Your music taste sucks,” Dean said, meeting what he assumed was the creature’s eyes – all he could see were two black indentations in the black moss that now covered what could be its head. “Thought I’d introduce some of my own. Everything is awesome, dude.”_

_The mossy form before him shuddered. “You are defiant. I don’t expect this from mortals.”_

_Dean laughed. “You want defiance? You got it. Kiss my ass, Swamp Thing.”_

_It wrapped itself around him a moment later, squeezing uncomfortably, and Dean whimpered as it started to suffocate him, smothering every inch of his skin, pressing against him like barbed wire and silk sheets, confusing and horrifying and passionately, desperately wrong._

__He was watching the doctors working on his father, their professionalism impressive as they desperately performed endless chest compressions; they were trying to get John Winchester to breathe again, willing his heart to beat as the machines around him refused to show anything of the sort. Dean stood in the doorway with Sam, watching as his father just lay there, unmoving, and then someone was saying it was too late, they were calling it, Dad was dead, he was fucking dead and Dean couldn’t do anything except watch– __

_“No,” Dean moaned helplessly as he saw his father leave him all over again, as he mourned him, as he couldn’t cope with the guilt, as he smashed up his Baby in his fury at the demon who had taken his father away from him. “No, please stop this, please...”_

_The Sluagh drank his grief, and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing about it._

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Waking up this time wasn’t easy. Dean felt the pain before consciousness fully hit him and was moaning before he could stop himself, tears falling from his eyes, twisted into a ball of hurt. He didn’t know what had happened but he knew it was bad, and it was only after he heard Castiel’s voice and felt a hand stroking his back that he realized he was safe.

“What happened?” he gasped, wondering why he couldn’t breathe properly.

“Here, sit up,” Castiel said, and helped him to move upright, slowly, carefully. It hurt. Dean groaned, holding his stomach. Had someone punched him? Why did he feel so sore? 

And _ugh_ , why was there that weird song going around and around his head?

“How are you feeling?” Sam said, and Dean finally focused on where he was. It was dark outside and the lamps were lit. He was on the floor and Castiel was kneeling beside him, his face a picture of concern. Sam was leaning over the side of the bed, staring down at him, looking absolutely terrible; his hair was wet with sweat and Dean could see, even in the faint light from the lamps, that there were huge, dark bruises under his eyes and his skin was flushed. 

“How am _I_ feeling?” Dean gasped without thinking. “Sam, you – you look like you’re dying. What happened? How long was I gone?” 

Sam shot a worried look at Castiel, then back at Dean. “You’ve been gone a while,” he said, his voice croaky and sore. 

Dean swallowed, wincing, and then realized something. “My nose,” he said, and raised his hand to touch it. It didn’t feel broken but it hurt like hell. “What happened to my nose?” 

“It happened while you were unconscious,” Castiel told him. “It seems that whatever the Sluagh does to you there also happens here.” 

“The Sluagh,” Dean repeated, finally remembering what was going on. 

“What do you recall?” Castiel asked, urgently.

Dean searched his brain. Nothing. His blank expression must have given him away, as Castiel sighed and looked down.

“The song, Dean. Did you remember the song?”

Dean looked up at his brother, confused. “What song? The one in my head? It’s driving me nuts, I wish I didn’t remember the damn thing.”

“ _Everything is awesome,_ ” Sam sang, his voice weak and wavering. “ _Everything is cool if you’re part of a team. Everything is awesome, if you’re living out a dream..._ ”

For a few seconds, Dean looked at his brother as though he’d suddenly started talking fluent alien. And then... 

He caught his breath. “E-everything is awesome,” he said, and the carnival tune in his ears grew louder, as though it was trying to drown out the traitorous words. “Everything is cool if you’re part of a–” He stopped. 

He remembered... grayness. Things not quite fitting together. He remembered... the Sluagh, a heap of smoke and twigs and tentacles. He remembered... 

“Oh god,” he breathed, and grief washed over him. “ _Dad!_ Dad’s dead!”

Sam stared at him blankly. “Dean, I know. That happened years ago.”

But Dean was suddenly distraught, completely unable to control his emotions. “It made me watch him die,” he gasped, and started to sob. “He kept dying, over and over again! I couldn’t do anything, Sam, I couldn’t save him, every time, he still died – he died over and over again. Oh my god, Sam, he’s dead, Dad’s dead, I’m so sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry, he’s gone, he’s really gone.”

The music swirled in his ears, hideous and unnatural, and suddenly Dean didn’t want to think about anything except that his father had made a deal with Azazel to save his unworthy, pathetic life. Why had he done that? Why was he dead when Dean didn’t deserve to live? _Why did anybody care about him? He was nothing, he was garbage, he was Dean Winchester – the failure, the man who broke in Hell and started the apocalypse, the brother who couldn’t look after Sammy, the lover who hadn’t even noticed when Castiel had spent five years imprisoned by demons... he was nothing, he was wasting oxygen, he deserved to die–_

“Dean, _stop!_ ” said a voice, and someone shook him roughly. 

Gasping, Dean’s eyes snapped open. Castiel was gazing at him in consternation from a few inches away, and as soon as the angel realized that Dean was focusing on him he leaned forward and kissed him, hard and passionate, his hands on Dean’s cheeks, holding him still. Shocked, Dean breathed in a breath that was mostly Castiel’s and then, after a few moments, he moaned, unable to resist kissing him back.

A full minute passed before Castiel broke away. “Stop it,” he said again, leaning back. He ran a thumb down Dean’s face, wiping away the tears, his eyes flashing with fury. “I love you, Dean. Don’t ever forget that. Sam loves you too. Don’t let that thing get into your head, Dean. I know it’s difficult, but do not despair. You are needed. You are loved.”

Dean swallowed, sniffing, then winced at a pang from his nose. Had he been speaking out loud? Had Castiel and Sam heard what he’d been thinking? What... why had he been thinking that anyway? John Winchester died years ago, this was... not... useful. 

“I’m so confused,” he rasped, frowning. “What’s happening? I don’t understand what’s going on.”

“You’re under its spell, it’s okay,” Sam told him. He sounded sad. 

“What else did you see while you were with the Sluagh?” Castiel said, his expression deadly serious. “Tell us.”

Dean thought hard, trying desperately to ignore that wretched carnival music. “I saw... I saw... there were crows, I think.” He squeezed his eyes shut, knowing that wasn’t really helpful. “Ah... it was gray, the whole place was gray, there was a... silver lake, and trees, only they were weird trees that looked like, I dunno, a volcano had wiped them out or something... and the Sluagh was gray too, and it was made of smoke and, like, weird stuff, like twigs and feathers, and tentacles, and... and it had a wound in its side. Even in that form, even when it wasn’t human-looking, there was a wound. It was bleeding smoke.”

“That’s good news,” said Sam, from the bed, and Dean opened his eyes and looked up at him. 

“Can’t you heal him?” he asked Castiel abruptly, because Sam really did look dreadful.

“Maybe soon,” Castiel replied, evasively. “Dean, what else can you remember?”

Dean concentrated, feeling nauseous. The music kept ebbing and flowing, sometimes loud, sometimes quiet, and it was making him feel seasick. “It said... it said it fucked you,” he announced, and then slammed his mouth shut and stared at Castiel, mortified. “Ugh. Sorry. That could’ve been a bit more tactful.”

“It’s okay, I guessed as much,” Castiel reassured him, his expression barely changing. “Go on. There must be more.”

Dean swallowed down bile and tried not to think of the Sluagh and Castiel together. “It wanted me to do something,” he said, frowning. “It really wanted me to... to tell it something.”

“What did it want to know?”

Dean felt as though the music was a living thing, crawling in and out of his ears. “ _Argh,_ shit, Cas, I can’t concentrate, this music, it’s so loud!”

“Come on, Dean. You can do this. Everything is awesome, remember?”

There was something so incongruous about Castiel saying those silly words that Dean felt mildly shocked. And then, suddenly, he remembered. “There’s a box! There’s a box in my head. A big golden box. It wants to know what’s inside it. Whatever it is, it thinks it’s really important. And Cas, it’s covered in Enochian. The Sluagh says it’s your handwriting. It’s your box, and it’s in my head.”

Castiel leaned back, his eyes wide. He looked mortified.

“Cas?”

Castiel didn’t speak.

“What’s in the box?” Sam asked, meeting Dean’s gaze for a few moments, then turning to Castiel. “Cas?”

Castiel opened and closed his mouth a few times. Then he said, “It can’t open that box, Dean.”

Dean blinked at him. “Why not? How the hell is there a box in my head anyway?”

“It’s not real,” Castiel said, sounding contrite. “It’s... figurative. A representation.”

“Of what?”

Castiel looked off to the side, then back again. Finally, looking weirdly uncomfortable, he met Dean’s eyes. “That box contains your memories of Hell, Dean.”

Dean blinked. “My what?”

“When I rescued you, I took all your recollections of Alastair’s torture and I put them in that box. If I hadn’t, you would have gone insane. It was a safety measure.”

Dean stared at him, so stunned that, for once, he didn’t even notice the music building in his ears. “You... but that doesn’t make any sense, Cas. I remember Hell. I remember it. I remember all of it.”

“No,” Castiel shook his head, sighing. “You remember what I let you remember. What I knew you could handle. The entirety of it – it was too much for you. There’s more, so much more. And if the Sluagh opens that box, it will overwhelm you. I won’t be able to put those memories back. You will never recover.”

Dean gaped at him. Then he looked up at Sam, remembering how crazy his brother had been for a while after Castiel had knocked down the wall in his mind that was keeping him from remembering Hell. Sam met his gaze mutely, his eyes glistening, and they had a moment of connection.

“I’m sorry I never told you, Dean,” Castiel was saying. “Knowing it was there... you would pick at it, like a scab.”

“Why does the Sluagh want to open it?” Sam asked quietly. “Is that what it feeds on – torture and pain? Is that why it made Dean relive Dad’s death?”

“It must be,” Castiel nodded. “It must devour grief, hurt, everything negative. Those emotions, those feelings – they’re strong, more powerful than any other mortal sensation. It must use them to power itself.”

Out of nowhere, Dean felt a strange, hysterical giggle forming in his chest. “ _Monsters, Inc,_ ,” he said, grinning bitterly. “It’s doing that thing in _Monsters, Inc._.”

“What are you talking about?” said Sam, looking at him like he’d cracked.

“You know, Sammy – they open a door to another realm and scare the crap out of little kids so they can use their screams to power their city. This guy’s doing the same thing, only he’s using fear and grief to power himself.”

Sam snorted, closing his eyes wearily. “Dean, the fact you think you’re in a Pixar film right now is probably the least-weird thing that’s happened today.”

“It doesn’t know what’s in the box,” Castiel mused, narrowing his eyes, “but it senses that there is something... painful inside it. And so that’s what it does. It takes its victims, makes them relive terrible memories and the despair is what drives them to suicide. We assumed the Sluagh was murdering people for a reason, but perhaps the deaths are just a side-effect of its feeding. Its victims cannot live with the anguish.”

“Anguish,” Dean repeated thoughtfully, thinking back to that weird, gray place. Slowly, with a rush of surprise, he realized that he was starting to remember other things – the first time he’d been sent there, how the creature had forced him to see his mother die. The second time, when he’d relived Sam’s death at Cold Oak. And some of the things it had said to him, too, between feedings. 

“It told me it fed off your anguish, Cas,” he declared, placing a hand on Castiel’s arm. “That’s what happened when it took _you_ to that place. Everything the demons did to you – that was just a meal for it.”

Castiel stared down at Dean’s hand, saying nothing, his expression blank.

“You still don’t remember, do you?” Dean asked him gently.

“I thought I knew every creature that used me, but I don’t recall the Sluagh,” Castiel said dispassionately. “I can only assume it came to see me in another body and then... I have forgotten what it did to me. Or I was drugged. Some of those memories are a little... hazy.”

Dean felt the music swirl in his head and he had to stop for a moment, hoping it would subside. When it did, he squeezed Castiel’s arm and said, “It told me that it wants to kill me, and kill Sam, and then it wants to feed off your pain at our loss.”

Castiel nodded slowly. “It could feed off me for a very long time. We are both essentially immortal.” 

He lifted his head and met Dean’s eyes. He didn’t speak, but with a shiver, Dean knew that they were thinking the same thing: that the Sluagh would assume an angel wouldn’t be driven to suicide. And yet Dean remembered Castiel on that bench by the reservoir a few months beforehand; how he’d been filled with self-loathing and pain, how he’d hated his very existence, driven almost insane by what the demons had done to him. _That_ Castiel could have been suicidal. Dean had pulled him back, but what if Dean was dead?

_It wouldn’t matter, Dean. Castiel doesn’t love you. Nobody loves you. Why are you even worrying about them? You could have eternal peace. You know what to do._

“We need a plan,” Sam said, as Dean winced at the music reaching a crescendo in his head; at the words that were trying to get him to end it all. “How can we stop it feeding? If it doesn’t feed, it won’t heal, and that buys us time for Cas to get his powers back.”

Dean struggled to focus, then observed: “In _Monsters, Inc._ they realized that laughter was more powerful than screams.”

“So, what, you’re gonna laugh at the Sluagh? And you really don’t want to make it stronger, Dean.”

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something, I guess.”

Castiel was staring at him, his eyes calculating. 

“What?” 

“The Sluagh can read your mind,” he said. “It has to, in order to dig those memories out of you. So the next time you are pulled into its realm, it will know what is in the box. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Great,” Dean muttered. “Well, whatever you do, don’t tell me how to open it.”

“I won’t.” Castiel tilted his head. “We also can’t discuss any plans we have for the Sluagh in front of you. You could tip it off.”

“Yeah, that figures,” he said, rolling his eyes. 

_They’re talking about you behind your back, Dean,_ said the voice, interrupting. _They’re talking about how useless you are. They’re talking about how much they hate you. They’re talking about how easy their lives would be if you were gone. Give them what they want, Dean._

“Shut _up,_ you’re lying,” Dean hissed, putting his head in his hands.

The music swirled and looped around his head. He bit his lip, desperately trying to calm it down, and was immeasurably relieved when it eased off. Eventually, once he’d slowed down his breathing, he looked up to find Sam and Castiel staring at him worriedly. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“Dean, are you thinking of killing yourself?” Sam asked him bluntly.

Dean didn’t answer. He didn’t want to admit it out loud. That would make it real.

Castiel’s arm tightened around him. “We won’t let you. You’re safe.”

“I’m fine,” Dean said, finally. Clutching his bruised stomach, and with more than a little help from Castiel, he got to his knees and then, even more slowly, his feet. He looked down at Sam on the bed and felt a spike of fear surge through him. 

“And how are you?”

Sam was shivering, a mess of sweat and chills. Now that Dean could see his entire body and not just his head peering down at him, it was clear that he was in a really bad way. Blood had long ago soaked through the bandages but, with nothing else to wrap him with, they’d had to stay put: Dean was sure Castiel had thought of every other option. There was no way to stitch him up, and even though Dean had cleaned the wounds he hadn’t had any antibiotics, so it was obvious that they were infected – who knew what the hell lay under that creature’s fingernails. 

Sam stared up at him, lucid but only just, and Dean placed a hand on his forehead carefully. It felt exactly as hot as Sam looked. 

“Cas is getting stronger all the time,” his brother said hoarsely. “He’ll heal me before this gets too bad.”

Dean nodded as comfortingly as he could. “Yeah, he will. You just have to hang on in there, okay?”

Sam grimaced. “I’m not the only one.” He grabbed Dean’s wrist and squeezed it, hard. “You fight that thing, you hear me? I know it’s messing with your head, making you feel like giving up, but you can’t. You have to be strong.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sam, I’ll be fine.”

“Dean!” Sam’s expression twisted angrily. “Don’t brush me off, man. I’ve seen what that thing has done to you, okay? You were lying on the floor and it was beating on you, we both saw it. One minute you weren’t moving and the next your nose was bleeding and you were bent over in agony. It was awful, and that’s without the fact we have to keep watching you pass out and... and the fact it’s trying to get you to go crazy. Don’t let it. We’ll find a way to stop it. You just stay safe and stay sane.”

Dean swallowed, feeling a little sick. It hadn’t occurred to him how it must have looked, seeing injuries suddenly appearing from nowhere on a loved one. 

_They don’t care about you. He’s lying. He wants you dead. You’d be better off dead._

The music drifted closer to Dean’s left ear and he instinctively put a hand over it, trying to block it out, pretending he wasn’t listening to the words that kept forming in his mind. Sam saw him do it and frowned.

“I’d be okay if it wasn’t for this music,” Dean told him, unsettled. “It makes it kinda hard to concentrate.”

“Everything is awesome,” Sam said flatly. “Keep thinking it. It’ll help.”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but–

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

_He was back._

_At least the music wasn’t in his head any more._

_The golden box seemed bigger this time, more dangerous. Dean stared down at it ruefully, then turned to the undulating cloud of sand and feathers beside him and shook his head._

_“You’re not getting in there.”_

_The Sluagh hissed. “I have already seen your memories of Hell – the ones your angel whore let you keep, anyway. They are enticing, but they are not what I need.”_

_Dean frowned. “You feed off torture, you sick freak. You can’t get more ‘torture’ than forty years in Hell.”_

_“It wasn’t real,” the Sluagh said dismissively. “I could sense the pain coming from this box, and I was curious, but now I know what it is, I do not care. Your Hell body was not your real body. Your Hell pain was not real pain. Your real pain is what interests me. Your real body is my feast.”_

_“Pervert,” Dean said, suddenly feeling exhausted. He looked back at the box. Forty years of torment, right there, all bundled up with a bow on top. Castiel had hidden it from him and he’d had no idea. All those years he’d carried around the memories of the things Alastair had done to him – all those vile, excruciating, degrading things – and that had only been a snapshot of the real deal. It was hard for him to comprehend._

_Castiel had been protecting him every second of every day, and Dean had never known it. What would he have done without him?_

_“You do not seem scared of me now,” the Sluagh noted, its voice curious._

_Dean sighed, grimacing as he tasted the foulness of the air. “Yeah, well. Sometimes, once you know what you’re dealing with, it ain’t that terrifying any more. You’re just a vampire, except you feed on hurt. You’re right: I have enough of that to go around, whether it’s real or imaginary, but it’s not as though I can do anything about it. So feed away. You’re not important. What’s important is out there – my brother and Castiel. They’ll keep me going and you won’t ever get your hands on them.”_

_Dean felt his stomach swoop as the strange, surreal landscape around him twirled and upended itself, sparking with lightning and fizzling wetly, before it righted itself and settled back into its familiar nonsense shapes. He gulped, closing his eyes for a few moments. No wonder Castiel had said this realm could send mortals insane._

_“Ye think ye will be safe because people_ love you _?” the creature snapped, and Dean looked at it, shocked, as it began to laugh. “You think love is any protection against me? You think familial bonds are stronger than pain? You think that your angel’s lust for your body will stop me from sucking out every atom of grief and hurt ye have experienced in your miserable mortal life?”_

_Suddenly it was on him, squeezing, smothering, a blanket of hatred and needles. Dean yelped in horror, his bravado forgotten, and then the creature was in his mind and–_

__“You should talk to your plumber about the pipes,” said Alastair, and Dean barely had two seconds to register the fact that the demon was free of the Devil’s Trap that Castiel had built for it before Alastair was punching him, over and over, grabbing him by the throat and hoisting him into the air, choking him... __

_“I survived that,” Dean cried out, almost breathing in a tangle of moss and twigs from the Sluagh’s enveloping form. “It was shit and I nearly died, but Cas and Sam saved me and I got over it. There’s no point making me relive it, it’s done, it’s ancient history, you fuck!”_

_The Sluagh shifted against his skin, burning him, and he cried out in pain._

__“Sic’ em, boy,” said Lilith, and the hell-hound charged through the door and threw Dean to the ground in a heap of blood and torn flesh while Sam screamed, over and over, and Lilith laughed– __

_“Old news,” Dean choked, struggling against the Sluagh’s suffocating presence. “Play a new record, asshole, this one’s got a scratch on it.”_

__Bobby was lying in a hospital bed– __

_“NO!” Dean screamed in fury, punching his fists against the smoke surrounding him. “Let me go, you piece of crap, I’m not playing your goddamn games any more!”_

_Suddenly he was on the ground, almost blinded by the light that shone from his naked body as it moved, trails evaporating in the air as he landed on his hands and knees. Panting, trying desperately not to retch at the hideous taste in his mouth – as well as from the things he’d just seen – Dean looked up at the Sluagh._

_It was switching forms before his eyes, but this time they were human: men, women, even children, all blank-faced and dark-eyed, some short, some tall, all of them naked and staring down at him quietly. Dean watched, shivering, wondering what was going to happen next._

_Had anything ever defied this creature before? Did it even know what to do?_

_“You are mistaken,” the Sluagh said, the words coming from three different people in a row. “You will still play my games, because I am still hungry.”_

_It stopped in one form: a middle-aged, totally innocuous-looking brown-haired white man. “Perhaps your own anguish isn’t enough any more,” the man said._

_And then, an eyeblink later, the Sluagh had wrapped itself around Dean again and was pulling his eyes open by the lids, forcing him to look at... to look at..._

_Dean gasped, realizing that he wasn’t looking at his own memories any more._

_He was looking at Castiel’s._

~ ~ ~

“So they actually trapped an angel, did they?” said the creature, closing the cellar door behind it and walking over to the bed. “I never thought I’d see your kind outside of Heaven where ye all safe and sound. Very unwise to leave, laddie, as I’m sure you’ve realized by now.”

Castiel stared up at him from the mattress, his breathing even and his heartbeat steady, ready for whatever would happen next. He was always ready for what would happen next. He had no choice. He’d had no choice for a long, long time now. 

He didn’t recognize this creature, though. It presented itself as an ordinary human but it wasn’t a demon. It felt older. Castiel’s powers were diminished and so he couldn’t ascertain anything else, but it definitely felt new to him. How interesting. 

How... worrying.

“I’ve paid for a week, so I hope you’ll be worth it,” the creature said. Its clothes disappeared – a projection, Castiel assumed, as this wasn’t its real form – and it climbed onto the mattress, straddling him confidently. “I’m sure it’s going to be fascinating. I’ve never done this with an angel before.”

“I hear that a lot,” Castiel said flatly, because he did. He pulled on his chains, knowing it was futile. All this time and he still pulled on them. It was a very human thing, to be filled with hope against all the logic facing you.

The creature looked him up and down. Castiel was largely indifferent to his own nakedness – he felt no embarrassment or shame. But there was something about the way this being studied him that made him hitch in a breath, nervous. What _was_ it?

“I am Sluagh,” it said unexpectedly, as though reading his mind.

Castiel searched his memory, knowing that he had heard the word _Sluagh_ before. “You are very ancient,” he said after a few moments, raising his eyebrows. “We thought you were myth.”

“That’s because we were careful. So many centuries – millennia – we hid. We watched. We learned how to empty mortals of their memories. Ye won’t remember, either. I don’t let anybody or anything remember me.”

Castiel pondered that for a moment, wondering if it could be true, before asking: “What do you want from an angel?”

The Sluagh smiled; it looked bitter on this ordinary human’s face. “I killed all others of my kind. I was angry and I was foolish, yet I have no regrets – except for one. After two centuries, I have found I hunger for carnal pleasures.”

Castiel sighed. “Sex, then,” he said. “I was expecting something a little more interesting from you.” 

Even as it came out of his mouth he thought it sounded like Dean Winchester. 

_Don’t think of Dean. Never think of Dean. You’ll never see him again. Don’t torture yourself._

The Sluagh laughed, and for a second – just a fleeting, ephemeral moment – Castiel saw smoke and ash behind its eyes. “Humans die too quickly,” it said. “They’re no fun, except as nourishment. Demons and other creatures are unpleasant to touch. But you... you, dear angel, may be able to stand me.”

“Lucky me.” Castiel looked away, trying to seem bored, but he knew this creature saw right through him. And the truth was: he was rattled. He had no idea what was going to happen now.

It said it had him for a _week._

Castiel hoped it slept, at least.

The light in the cellar suddenly dimmed. “That’s better,” it said. “Usually I prefer it wi’ the lights on, but I don’t want anybody to watch this.”

Castiel didn’t understand. Nobody was watching, why would it think anyone was? Then he remembered the camera, although as far as he knew nobody ever paid attention to it – it was merely there for security. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but suddenly the Sluagh was kissing him, taking him by surprise, groaning into his mouth. 

It tasted of leaf mulch and pond-water, but Castiel had experienced much worse in the many, many months he’d been chained to this bed, and so he simply lay still and waited for it to be over. 

“Ye taste holy,” said the Sluagh after a short while, pulling back and nipping at Castiel’s chin playfully.

“I hear that a lot, too,” Castiel said. He jerked his head away, knowing it was pointless, and sure enough a hand gripped his jaw and yanked him back. The Sluagh kissed him again, its tongue moving deep inside him, and Castiel rolled his eyes upwards and stared at the ceiling in the dim light. Sometimes he counted the cracks up there. It depended on where he was: most of the rooms he stayed in were fairly similar, but some ceilings had watermarks or patterns in the plaster. He’d memorized them all. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to distract himself with.

A hand snaked down his body. Fingers prodded his sides, his belly; they brushed through his pubic hair and a fist encircled his penis. Castiel growled, annoyed, and tugged on the chains in protest, but pain flared in his wrists from the manacles and he stopped. There was nothing he could do. He was helpless. He was used to it by now, but he didn’t have to like it.

“So, in all the time these beasties have kept you here, have they ever made you come?” the Sluagh asked lightly, leaning back and squeezing his penis, teasing him. 

Castiel blinked, suspicious. “Why should they?”

“Because it’s only polite,” said the Sluagh.

“You do not seem to have much experience of demons.”

The Sluagh huffed, amused. “You’re such a serious little laddie, aren’t you? When was the last time you laughed?”

_Dean spilled his beer and used Sam’s fresh laundry to mop it up; he wasn’t thinking, he didn’t do it to be unkind, but Sam was annoyed and then Dean started to laugh at the look on his face, and that made Castiel laugh too, until finally all three of them were laughing and Dean agreed to do his brother’s laundry for a week to make up for it, and Sam said–_

The Sluagh slapped him, hard. 

Castiel gasped, the chain around his neck clanking at the sudden movement. He felt blood in his mouth and he snarled, spitting it at the creature, furious that it had caught him unawares. 

“Oh, so ye do have some fire after all.”

“Just get this over with,” Castiel rumbled.

The creature smiled dangerously. “Ye seem to think you are in charge here. You’re not. You’re mine.”

“That’s what they all say,” Castiel jerked his body, trying to unbalance him, but it didn’t work. “You’re not as original as you think you are.”

The Sluagh seemed fascinated. “So ye would like me to try something new with you after all.”

Castiel snapped his jaw shut, frustrated. Losing his temper only made things worse for him. He should know that by now. Why did he always do that?

_Because it’s what Dean would do._

The Sluagh’s head tilted to one side, a bone in its neck clicking. It did the same in reverse, smiling. And then... and then... 

Castiel wasn’t in the room any more. He also wasn’t on the bed any more. He was lying on soft, black dirt inside a translucent, pulsing structure that made no rational sense – it was the size of a house, but gleaming like a gray, dirty bubble, and the angles that made up its walls weren’t positioned correctly, confusing his eyes. Through the walls he could see a cloudy, darkened landscape that stretched to a distant, unappealing horizon – it was all dead, brown grass and heather, rocks and silver-colored streams. The sky was a muddy brown above his head and the air tasted of fire and dirt. When he looked down at his body, the chains connected to the manacles on his wrists and neck disappeared under the soil around him. He was still held tight, but he wasn’t on Earth any more.

He’d been pulled into the realm of the Sluagh.

It stood over him. Castiel watched, mesmerized, as its body disintegrated. It became a roiling, seething mass of smoke and feathers; there was something avian about it, crow-like, but as he watched he saw a writhing, undulating section form into something that resembled the tentacles of an octopus, rolling and waving within the mist. It was intriguing to see, so fascinating, in fact, that for a few moments Castiel forgot that this arcane creature before him had malicious intent. It was like watching something primal, something beyond God’s rules, and he was entranced.

But then he was brought back to reality with a violent crash when one of the tentacles swept out and rammed itself down his throat.

Castiel had enough time to make a strangled, desperate noise and then there was nothing left inside him: no air, no sound, just the dry-dirt feeing of a living _thing_ inside his throat. He didn’t need air to breathe but that didn’t mean this wasn’t monstrously uncomfortable; he struggled, knowing it was futile, his eyes wide and his back arching, but the tendril stayed jammed in his mouth.

And then, just as he thought he couldn’t bear it any longer, it began to move – up and down, twisting a little, rubbing against the inside of his throat, pulsating and hot. 

“Give it a good suck, laddie,” hissed the Sluagh, rippling above him. 

Understanding what it was now, Castiel tried to roar his outrage. All he could do was rattle his chains. He was pathetic, as usual.

The Sluagh was quivering, its foggy, vibrating form changing shape like a whirlpool; spinning fast, then slow, then moving outwards and inwards. It sighed, sliding itself upwards until the tentacle was almost out of Castiel’s mouth – he tried to bite it, furious at his impotence, but he couldn’t seem to move his jaw – and then it shot back inside him again... and again... and again... fucking his mouth and throat with a raw, violent power. Castiel couldn’t do a thing: he could only lie there and feel its heat growing inside him, unable even to choke. There was no air for him, none at all, and his head felt as though it was getting light even though he knew it shouldn’t be. 

But it was about to get worse. The creature moved forward, its disturbing, noxious form settling over Castiel’s body. It was cold, bringing his skin up into goosebumps; then it was hot, scalding him. He tried to get away but his body couldn’t move – he was covered in dust and twigs and old bird nests and moss and _whatever the hell else this thing was made of_ and it was like glue, holding him still. He struggled uselessly but was pinned, absolutely unable to move, and his eyes rolled wildly as he tried to see through the greasy, filthy mist and figure out what it was going to do to him next.

“I hear ye are a filthy angel whore,” the Sluagh whispered in his ear, still fucking his mouth, and Castiel tried to pull his head away and couldn’t. Something tickled his earlobe, then his neck, and then he lay silently and endured the creature licking him all over – a dry, burning sensation that felt like acid burning his skin.

Something happened, then, that neither of them were expecting. The Oxidiens, those cursed pieces of metal on his wrists and neck, started to shiver. Castiel felt pain arch through him and his body flexed on the mattress as he tried to get away from it, tried to get away from _them_ , but they jabbed their needles into his flesh until he wanted to scream his agony.

The Sluagh, on the other hand, seemed intrigued. It slowed its rhythm, rippling foggy tendrils over the metal, caressing it. The manacles responded by shuddering and digging into Castiel with vicious strength, harder than he’d ever felt before, so painfully that he thought he would pass out from it. Typically, though, he didn’t.

“I see ye, little ones,” whispered the Sluagh. “You’re right to be afraid of me, but I’m not here for ye today. I’m here to fuck the angel. Don’t get in my way.”

The Oxidiens fell quiet, freezing in place. Castiel rode through the pain and came out the other side, wrung out, sweating. Those... things... made his life hell, but they’d never reacted to any of the visitors he’d had before. Just how powerful was this Dark Faerie who lay curled around him? 

“I can read ye mind, you know,” it said, and there was a sound like cracking twigs from somewhere around Castiel’s legs which some analytical part of his mind tried to understand and failed. The thing in his mouth was removed, whipped out so suddenly that Castiel’s head lifted from the ground with it before slamming back down again. He coughed black smoke and gasped for air in its wake. 

The Sluagh shifted and shimmered around him as it waited for him to finish. “Better?” it asked sarcastically, when Castiel was finally breathing normally again.

Castiel didn’t answer, eyeing it warily. It was strange not having a face to focus on, but he scowled as impressively as he could regardless.

“You’re so holier-than-thou,” the Sluagh taunted. “All the things your captors have done to you, all the times you’ve disobeyed – I can see them all, in your head – and yet you still think you’re above us all.”

“I don’t rape people for fun,” Castiel said, his voice torn and hoarse. “I believe that makes me better than you, yes.”

“Oh, but it’s not rape if ye enjoy it.”

“I do not enjoy–”

“Ye will.” A tendril flattened itself over Castiel’s lips, silencing him, and then the Sluagh was pushing his legs apart. Castiel braced himself, familiar with this vile act after so long spent captive, but the Sluagh had more surprises in its repertoire: instead of forcing itself inside him, a tentacle simply stroked his buttocks, the tip sliding delicately between them to caress him intimately. Castiel growled, suspicious, but the tentacle did nothing to hurt him. It merely rubbed gently, moving around his hips to stroke his testicles as though it revered them. 

It was cold in this strange, unnatural realm, but the Sluagh was warm enough that his skin became sensitized to its heat, craving it. After a short while, the tentacle started to moisten, leaving trails on Castiel’s skin.

It was like a tongue, licking him.

It was... pleasant.

The tentacle became two tentacles, and then four, and then Castiel was being stroked all over by them. They were gentle, considerate, moving across his skin and teasing him softly; he watched them writhe, feeling as though he was going insane, until his body felt as though it was on fire from the sheer sensation of them.

“What are you doing?” He jerked his head to one side, dislodging the tendril on his mouth. “If you want to fuck me, just fuck me. Stop this.”

The Sluagh’s smoky body rippled. It said nothing, but the first tentacle moved carefully, finally resting on the entrance to Castiel’s ass. He held his breath, feeling his body shake with fear, and then it was inside him.

It didn’t hurt. For the first time in all of his captivity, it didn’t hurt. Castiel gasped, unable to struggle, unable to do anything except _feel_ as it surged within him, sliding in and out with a slow, controlled rhythm. It was moving against something inside his body that felt as though it was glowing, getting warmer, enjoying the touch, and against all his logic and judgment Castiel released a moan that shocked him to his core. 

Another tentacle followed it, making him hiss in sudden pain, but the shock died down and he wriggled, exalting in the strange, unnatural throbbing inside him. It was like nothing he’d ever felt. There was no horror, no agony.

A cloud of... something... lowered itself onto his penis. 

He made an alarmed, surprised noise as it squeezed and stroked him from base to tip, twisting and sliding, wet and warm. The sensations didn’t match what his eyes could see: it looked like a cloud of dust, but it felt... it felt like a _mouth._ It felt like someone was sucking him, licking him, sliding hot, hungry lips around his shaft and willing it to harden. It made him gasp and tense against his chains – not that it made any difference – and then a jolt of something he barely recognized shot down his spine.

_Pleasure._

He drew in a breath, shocked, and stared at the Sluagh with wide eyes.

“I’m fucking you,” it said, sounding smug, “but you’re going to fuck me too. You’re going to come inside me like an animal, forgetting everything that has happened to ye except this one, disgusting, all-too-mortal pleasure, and then your guilt will be delicious. I can already taste it on ye. Not so holy after all, little laddie.”

“I don’t understand,” Castiel groaned, jerking as the tentacles inside him did something that released a flash of painful ecstasy. 

The Sluagh’s writhing, smoky form surged upwards like a demon. “I like playing with my food before I eat it.”

“No–” Castiel protested, but the Sluagh only suckled him with more force, those unnatural, malformed tendrils stroking his skin, massaging him, squeezing him, sliding and pumping. It was embarrassing how quickly Castiel felt himself growing hard – he tried not to, he wanted to scream, to fight, but the sensation of _hard-wet-suck_ was just too much for him. His penis filled with blood as though it had been waiting for this moment forever: eager, hungry, begging for orgasm. It was breathtaking; this was a need he’d never known he had, a desperation that was bestial, something undeniable, stronger than he’d ever known. Castiel began to shake, overwhelmed with lust and hatred, his body spasming with every long, determined lick, and then the Sluagh bent over him in a vaguely human form with eyes made of stones.

“Do you want to fuck me?” it said.

“ _No,_ ” Castiel snapped, panting hard.

Something was in his head, then. Something dark and cold shuffled through his memories and Castiel screamed, his entire body jerking on the mattress. 

“Do ye want to fuck _him?_ ” asked the Sluagh, and Castiel’s mind was suddenly full of visions of Dean Winchester – smiling, fighting, sleeping, driving his car, flicking through books, looking up at Castiel and grinning. 

_Dean_.

He loved Dean. He knew he loved him. But was it really... this? Did he really want to fuck him?

“Please stop,” he begged, but he felt his cock grow even harder as something slippery and hot traced lines up and down its length.

“Ye want to fuck him. He’s here for ye. Look, laddie. He’s here.”

And the Sluagh’s strange, mist-filled form coalesced into Dean Winchester. 

Castiel stared up at it, despairing, knowing it wasn’t really Dean – but, _oh_ , he was so hard now, and Dean was naked and gazing down at him with a cocky, fond smile, and Castiel’s breath caught in his chest as he realized he wanted him. He didn’t care, he couldn’t fight any more, he wanted to come and he wanted it to be with Dean, because he loved him and this was the only choice he had right now. And as if reading his thoughts – because he was, the Sluagh was, but Castiel was only half-aware of that – Dean leaned down and kissed him, sloppy and wet, moaning softly into his mouth, and then he rolled them both – somehow still inside him, pumping, forcing bright, pleasurable bursts of light to flare behind Castiel’s eyes – until he stared up at him with a serious, determined expression.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he said, and Castiel whimpered and looked down, yanking on his chains to get the leeway to shove Dean’s thighs apart; he took his own hard, unfamiliar cock in his hand, shocked at how sensitive it was, how hot, how filled with life, and he pushed forwards until he was inside Dean with a cry that sounded like a wounded animal.

“Everything is awesome,” Dean said.

Castiel growled, pumping and jerking into him, a burning heat gripping his penis, bucking his hips and settling into a wild, frantic rhythm that he didn’t want to end. He was inside Dean Winchester and that was all that mattered: he was going to fuck him until the end of time if he had to. “Dean,” he cried, tears suddenly spilling from his eyes, “ah, Dean, you’re so perfect, you feel so good–”

“Everything is cool if you’re part of a team,” Dean said.

The world filled with static, rippled, then came back. For a heartbeat, everything froze in place. 

“Everything is awesome,” Dean said. “Everything is awesome – _everything is cool if you’re part of a team... everything is awesome... if you’re...”_

 

~ ~ ~

 

_“...Living out a dream!”_

_Dean wrenched himself free of the Sluagh’s tendrils, pushing it away from him in puffs of smoke and clouds of feathers, hiding his eyes behind his hands._

_“Everything is awesome!” he yelled, even though it was obvious that the spell had already broken; he wasn’t watching the Sluagh raping Castiel any more. He’d pulled himself out of the memory, disgusted and repulsed with every fiber of his being. He hit the ground and lay flat, panting. There was a long, tension-filled silence._

_What the fuck had he just seen?_

_How had he been able to feel what Castiel was going through? He hadn’t just been watching – he’d been experiencing it, feeling it, hearing Castiel’s thoughts as though they were his own. And what... what had that thing done to him? It had pretended to be_ him, _it had made Castiel fuck him, and that was so sick and twisted Dean couldn’t even comprehend it, it was horrifying. It couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. Castiel had told him that he’d never been allowed to do that. He’d never fucked anybody, not in all of those long, miserable years. They’d all fucked_ him; _his captivity was about Castiel pleasing them, not his own pleasure._

_But... but the Sluagh had said it was going to wipe Castiel’s mind, make him forget. And Castiel couldn’t remember; he’d said as much in the cabin. It was true. His mind had been wiped. He had no memory of fucking the Sluagh in Dean’s form._

_With a gasp of realization, Dean suddenly remembered that Castiel had spent years thinking that the demons raping him were actually Dean. This was where it had begun: not with the drugs, not with that demon named Sitchwell who’d somehow messed with Castiel’s head. It was here._

_The Sluagh had pretended to be Dean and Castiel, mind-wipe or no mind-wipe, had never been the same afterwards._

_“You’re cleverer than I thought,” said the Sluagh quietly. “Look at ye, figuring it all out.”_

_“You are going to die,” Dean rasped, sickened. “I swear it.”_

_It chuckled. “I’m quaking. So tell me: what is that mantra you keep chanting? Why does it hold such power?”_

_Dean grunted, pulling himself to his knees. “Lego kicks ass, that’s why. My tune’s better than your tune. You might want to update it. Get something with a little more rhythm, a catchy chorus.”_

_“My melody marks you as mine. Once, we used them to keep others away from our possessions. It’s a habit I find hard to give up, despite the lack of competition now.”_

_“Next time just put a sticker on me,” Dean said, wiping his hand over his face. “Also, fuck you for what you did to Cas. We’re gonna kill you, you know. You won’t be torturing anybody again.”_

_“Ye think that by preventing me from feeding, ye have won?” the creature said, sounding amused. “All you’ve done is signed your own death warrant. You’ll be dead in a few hours, Dean Winchester, and I shall just move on to my next meal.”_

_Dean felt a stab of fear, but he ignored it. “Sam and Cas won’t let that happen. And you won’t have anyone to feed on. With any luck you’ll bleed to death from that wound.”_

_The Sluagh hissed. “I am almost healed. I have rested with my flock long enough.”_

_“Ready for round two then, huh? Bring it.”_

_The Sluagh shimmered and, too late, Dean realized that he had angered it._

_“I’m bored with ye now,” it said, and before Dean could react there were tendrils heading for his eyes. He tried to dodge, he tried to close them, but it was too late:_

_They scooped the eyeballs right out of his head._

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	3. Chapter 3

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There was nothing but darkness and pain and noise. The song was in his head, going round and round at a volume that was extraordinary, but there was more noise on top of it: a low, keening, wailing sound. Dean wasn’t even aware that he was the one howling until he ran out of oxygen and had to stop, heaving in breath after breath, his throat torn and his heart pounding so hard he thought it was going to explode.

His eyes! His fucking _eyes!_

He screamed again, because there was nothing else in the world right now except for darkness and pain and noise.

“DEAN!” 

Hands shook him and he struggled, almost out of his head with terror.

“Dean, please! Dean! You’re safe, you’re safe! We can fix this, I promise! _Dean!_ ”

He stopped struggling, panting. Slowly, he came to the realization that he was back in the cabin. Castiel’s arms were around him, holding him tight, the angel’s breath warm on his neck. He was... he was...

“I can’t see,” he croaked. “Cas... my eyes. My eyes!”

“I know, I’m so sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry. But we’ll fix this, I swear.”

“Heal me,” Dean demanded, raising his hands and grabbing blindly at Castiel’s torso. “Please, Cas, you gotta heal me. I can’t be blind, I can’t be, I can’t be – _arggh_ , the music, I can’t stand it!” He slammed his hands over his ears, the tune rising and falling in waves, and as it mingled with the pain the sensation was so bad that he couldn’t help himself – he choked, retched and, leaning off to one side, puked, unable to see where it landed but not caring, either. 

The music died down. Dean sat silently, trying to gather himself together. Every inch of him was shaking. His eyes burned. He could feel warm blood sliding down his cheeks. What had it done to him? He remembered... he remembered... nothing. 

“I can’t heal you and heal Sam as well,” Castiel was saying, his voice fading in and out of Dean’s hearing. “But I’m not sure I can heal you anyway: the Sluagh’s magic could be immune to my powers. We have to kill it, Dean. Perhaps then you will recover. And if you don’t, we’ll find another way. I promise, Dean. I promise.”

Dean gulped, remembering how ill had brother had been the last time he’d seen him. “S- Sammy... how is he?”

“I’m going to heal him soon. He’s asleep right now.”

“Tell me he’s going to make it, Cas,” Dean demanded. 

“He will. It’s nearly dawn and I’ll heal him then.”

Dean drew in a deep, hitching breath. “I’m blind,” he whispered, still in shock.

“I know.” A hand fell on his neck and held him, tight. “I will be your eyes until this is over. You have me.”

The pain was receding now, which was one small blessing, at least. Dean placed his hands over his eye sockets, trying not to feel how _not right_ they were. He didn’t want to touch them – he didn’t want to do anything except curl up and die. How could he live without his sight? He was a hunter! He needed his eyes. He needed to be able to see. He needed to be fit and well so that he could lead. 

_You can’t live like this,_ a voice said, as the music began to swell again. _You’re a burden. You’re always a burden. I can show you a better way. You can go and they will never miss you._

“Can you remember anything about the Sluagh?” Castiel asked him.

Dean shook his head, trying to ignore the music. He slammed a hand on the floor in frustration. “Nothing. I can’t... I can’t remember a damn thing.”

“Did you use the song?”

“What song?”

“Everything is awesome.”

Dean froze. 

It was weird how quickly he remembered what he’d seen, after hearing those three words. 

_Castiel was fucking him. Castiel was fucking him like an animal, only... only it wasn’t him, it was the Sluagh, and... and..._

“I saw what happened to you,” he said, and shuddered. “It took you to its weird psycho world and... and... I saw what it did.”

Castiel didn’t say anything, but Dean heard his breathing speed up.

“Do you want to know?”

“No,” said Castiel.

Dean grimaced. “That’s probably a good idea. I’m sorry, Cas, I wish I hadn’t seen it. I wish–”

He stopped, another memory hitting him. He saw the Sluagh’s tendrils coming towards him; felt the horror as they jabbed into his eye sockets; heard the sound as they... as they... 

“God, no,” he gasped, holding his stomach. 

“Is there anything you saw that could help us find the Sluagh?” 

Castiel sounded as though he didn’t have time for Dean’s shit, and it made Dean’s stomach flip. _You’re annoying him,_ said the voice. _You’re a burden. He hates you._

“W– what?” Dean stuttered, trying to hear over the sound of the music in his ears. No, Castiel didn’t think that. He was just worried.

“Is there anything else that could help us?” Castiel said again. “What did you see, Dean?” 

Dean swallowed, wincing at the burning sensation coming from what was left of his eyes. “Uh... I don’t know... I can’t remember.”

“ _Think,_ Dean!” Castiel gripped him by the arms and shook him.

_He hates you._

Dean whimpered, overwhelmed, but then something popped into his head and he frowned. “It said... it said it was resting with its flock. But that can’t be right. Didn’t it say it had killed all the other ones?”

There was a silence. And then Castiel said: “I think I know where it is.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel was pacing around the cabin, doing something that Dean couldn’t see. Well, obviously: he had no eyes any more. He sat with his back against a wall and shivered, feeling small and fragile and alone. Although he wasn’t entirely alone. The music was back, swirling and looping around Dean’s head, and he felt as though he couldn’t fight it any more.

_They don’t need you. You are slowing them down. You are pathetic. You are everything they do not want in their lives. They will be better off without you. Listen to me. Follow my voice. I will show you the way._

“Dean?” 

He looked up, aiming his blind eyes towards where he thought Castiel was.

“I’m nearly ready to heal Sam. It’ll take me a few minutes. Don’t worry if everything goes quiet, okay?”

Dean nodded aimlessly. He felt as though he was drifting, set loose on that weird silver sea in the Sluagh’s realm. He wanted to go under the water. He wanted to drown. He wanted it all to end. 

_I can give you that, Dean. Trust me. Go with me._

“Hey.” Castiel was suddenly in front of him. A warm hand stroked his cheek; Dean wondered, idly, if he was bleeding on Castiel’s fingers from his empty eye sockets. 

“It’s going to be okay, you hear me? Don’t give up, Dean. Once Sam’s back with us we will go and get that creature and you’ll be back to normal. Just stay with me until then, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean said vaguely.

Castiel kissed him softly on the forehead. “I love you,” he said, and was gone.

Dean sat and listened to the music. 

_Get up,_ said the voice that was pulsating through the melody. _Come on. Follow my voice. You will find peace at last. Nobody will mourn you. Nobody will be sad. You will free the people you love. You are the chain around their necks. And, most of all, you will free yourself._

“Okay,” he murmured, and climbed awkwardly to his feet. 

_They’re not looking at you. Be quiet, or they will. Move four steps forward._

Dean followed the instructions in the song.

_Go left. Three steps. Reach out your hand. There! Feel the handle? Turn it. That’s it. Walk through the door. There are four steps down – good. Now walk forward until I say stop._

Dean walked. He felt the rain on his skin and turned his face up to the sky, unable to see if it was night or day, but it didn’t matter. The water was cleansing him; he was going to die free of sin and pain. 

He wasn’t going to ruin any more lives. His father had died for him. Castiel had been held captive for five years and Dean hadn’t been able to find him. Sammy was bound to him, always, and needed to be free. 

He was a failure. He’d let everybody down. Now he could release them.

_Stop. Turn. Walk. It’s uphill. Walk quickly, they may be following._

He stumbled a few times, the mud beneath his feet making him slip, and occasionally he felt the tug and scrape of branches on his body. Something scratched his cheek, making him wince, and he worried for a moment that a twig was going to poke an eye out before he remembered he didn’t even have eyes any more. It made him giggle, slightly hysterical, and then – just for a moment – he stopped walking.

What was he doing? Why was he out here?

The music surged upwards, reaching a crescendo that made him cry out and bend over, clutching his head in pain. _Keep walking!_ ordered the voice, and, helpless, Dean followed its instructions. He walked until he was soaked and shaking, and then he sensed the trees around him thinning out and a wind chilled him to the bone. He was somewhere high up. The ground was rockier. The rain felt as though it was hitting him sideways. Where was he going? Perhaps–

_“Dean!”_

He stopped. The voice was far away, but somehow he’d been able to hear it over the music.

_Don’t listen. Keep walking. You’re almost there, Dean. You can do this. You fail at everything else, but this you can do._

He walked. He heard two voices behind him, calling his name and growing ever nearer, sounding more and more frantic as they approached. He couldn’t imagine why.

_Here. Stop._

Dean came to a standstill. The wind was strong here, whipping around him viciously, and he realized he couldn’t feel his fingers any more. 

_Are you ready?_

“Yes,” he said.

_Take two steps forward, Dean, and then all your pain will end._

Dean raised his foot. 

“No! No, please, Dean, don’t move! Stay still, please!”

He set his foot down again, surprised. He swallowed, moving his head sideways, trying to hear the words over the terrible, cloying song in his brain. “Who’s there?” he asked, confused.

“It’s Sam! It’s Sam, it’s your brother, Dean, it’s Sammy! Come on, take a step backwards. Please. Please, man, just do it.”

_Ignore him._

Dean didn’t move.

“Listen to him, Dean,” said another voice, sounding much calmer. “You can’t jump. Don’t let it win. You’re stronger than this.”

“Stronger than what?” Dean asked, wincing as the music screeched in his ears. “ _Fuck..._ Why doesn’t it stop? I can’t make it stop. How do I make it stop?”

“Step backwards. Come on, Dean.”

_Take two steps forward, Dean. It’ll all be over. The pain will end._

Dean stayed in place, breathing hard. He didn’t know what to do. 

“Sam, go find the Sluagh,” the calm voice ordered.

“I’m not leaving him like this!”

“I will stay with Dean. I can protect him. Go, Sam – find the creature that’s in his head. It’s the only way to save him.”

There was a pause and then, as the music dipped out of his head for a few seconds, Dean heard someone running, their footfalls growing distant. He twitched, shaking his head, and the song returned. 

“I can’t get it out of my head,” he moaned, placing his hands on his ears. “How do I get it out of my head?”

He sensed that the man had moved closer. “You step backwards, Dean. Trust me.”

_He is lying to you. He wants you to suffer._

“You’re lying,” Dean barked, taking a step forward without thinking. 

There was a strangled noise. “No...! Please... please don’t do that again, Dean, please – don’t move, okay? Do you even know where you are?”

Dean shuddered. “High. Somewhere high.”

“You’re standing on the edge of a cliff. There’s a river below, but the fall will kill you. You need to take a step backwards, okay?”

“A cliff,” Dean said, vaguely. “I like that idea... it will be quick.”

When the man spoke again, he sounded a little nearer. “Dean, I need you to listen to me, okay? This is really important. Can you do that for me?”

Dean nodded slowly. A gust of wind made him sway and the music squawked in his ears, jubilant, until he steadied himself.

“The way you’re feeling, right now – it’s not you thinking it. These aren’t your thoughts, okay? The Sluagh is inside your head. It wants you to die. It wants that because it knows how much pain it would cause to me and Sam. Do you understand, Dean? If you die, we are the ones who will suffer. We love you. We don’t want you to die.”

Dean couldn’t really hear him properly over the music. He shook his head, wobbling a little as his balance was shot without his vision. 

“When I’m gone, you’ll both be free,” he said, and suddenly he felt sad. Nobody loved him. How sad that he had lived all these years and nobody had loved him.

“That’s not true. Dean... Dean, if you die I will have nothing. I will want to die too. You have to stay with me. I can’t live without you.”

There was some emotion in his voice that Dean couldn’t identify – it sounded as though he was crying, but Dean wondered if it was actually laughter. Was the man laughing at him?

_He thinks this is a joke. If you don’t jump soon, he will push you himself. He hates you. He wants you gone._

“No,” Dean choked, and a surge of grief coursed through him. Suddenly, with a flash of unexpected recognition, he realized who was talking to him. 

Castiel. Of course it was Castiel. 

“I don’t want you to hate me, Cas,” he sobbed without thinking. “But you still hate me. You’ve always hated me.”

“I don’t hate you, Dean!”

“You hate me. You both hate me. And I deserve it. I should’ve found you, Cas, I should’ve realized you were in trouble and I should’ve torn the world apart looking for you, but I gave up. I gave up and look what happened. The world will be a better place without me – I need to go, I need to–”

The music overwhelmed him. 

_Do it,_ it screamed.

He stepped forward. 

He fell.

A heartbeat later, something warm and solid grabbed him. It held him close and they fell together.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke up lying uncomfortably on his back on what felt like a pile of rocks. 

He promptly coughed up a lungful of freezing water, coughing and gurgling helplessly. Once he’d finished, he tried to figure out what the hell was going on, but it was confusing: he was soaking wet and ice-cold and something was tugging insistently on his feet. It took him a while to process the sensation and realize that he was lying half-in and half-out of flowing water, the current sweeping past him from the knees down. From the roaring sound in his ears, it had to be a river. 

Whatever it was, it was really fucking cold.

Awkwardly, he pulled his feet up onto the shore and out of the water, rolling onto his side and curling into a fetal position, shivering. He lay for a while, blanketed in darkness, trying to piece together what had happened. 

He remembered the music... it was still there, but fainter now, as though it was scared to hit him full-force. 

He remembered leaving the cabin. 

He remembered walking through the blackness to... to...

He gasped, shocked. 

That goddamned voice had made him jump off a fucking _cliff._

And Castiel... Castiel had tried to stop him, but had fallen too.

“Cas!” he yelled, sitting bolt upright. _“Cas!”_

“I’m here,” came a weak voice from a few feet away.

Dean jumped, then reached out his left hand. “Cas? Where are you? Are you okay?”

A hand took his and squeezed. Castiel’s skin was just as cold as his was, and Dean winced. 

“How are you feeling?” Castiel asked, his voice hard to hear over the torrent beside them. 

“Like a lemming,” Dean quipped, and pulled a face. “That was insane, Cas – _I_ was insane – I couldn’t stop myself, it was like there was this voice controlling me. That fucking song was telling me what to do like some kind of evil Jiminy Cricket.”

“Can you still hear it?”

Dean nodded, trying to stop his teeth from chattering. “Yeah, the music’s still here. It’s weaker, though. Maybe it hasn’t figured out yet that I didn’t die.” He stopped, suddenly puzzled. “Wait, we fell off a cliff, didn’t we? How am I not dead?”

“I shielded you.” A pause, then: “We fell a long way. I’d already used up most of my grace healing Sam. I’m almost human again now.”

Dean placed his other hand on Castiel’s and tightened his grip. “You bubblewrapped me? So that’s why I’m not in pieces right now. Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel shivered in his grip. Dean felt a stab of concern. “Wait, are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing,” Castiel replied, and Dean noticed for the first time how tired he sounded. 

Crap.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or do I have to play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and poke you until I find it?”

Castiel was silent for a few moments. Then he pulled his hand from Dean’s and he heard him move, rocks shifting under his feet. “I have injured my shoulder,” the angel said, still sounding tired, but with that infuriating angelic calmness that Dean had come to know so well. “I can only use one arm. I suspect I’ve also smashed some ribs and I’ve damaged my neck. It’s painful, but it’s only temporary. What is more important is determining if Sam has found the Sluagh. It won’t be long before that voice is back in your head, Dean.”

Dean shivered. “Well, that’s something to look forward to. Although I’m probably gonna f-freeze to death soon, so its work will be done regardless.”

“I’ll see if I can build a fire.”

“Fire sounds p-pretty good, Cas. I’d offer to help, b-but I don’t think my hands work right now.”

Dean heard Castiel stand and begin to walk around, the rocks and pebbles crunching beneath his shoes. The music in his mind was getting louder, but he tried his damnedest to ignore it. For the moment, at least, he was himself, and he wanted it to stay that way.

“So how do you guys know where the Sluagh is?” he asked.

Castiel coughed before he answered, which was... worrying. “I can’t tell you. If it takes you into its realm again and reads your mind, it will know for sure if we’ve found it.”

“It’s not bringing me back, Cas. It’s done with me. It wants Sam next.” Dean rubbed his forehead with numb fingers, avoiding the area around his eyes, still freaked out by how that felt. “I hope he knows what he’s up against. You should go help, Cas. Leave me here.”

“I can’t, Dean. In ten minutes you could be putting rocks in your pockets and wading into the river. It’s too dangerous to leave you alone.”

Dean fell silent, contemplating the weirdness of knowing that he was a suicide risk when he actually wanted to live. At the moment, however, all he knew was that he was cold. The longer he sat there in his soaking clothing, the more he shook. It was horrible.

“I’m freezing here,” he mumbled, flexing his fingers. He felt as though he hadn’t had any sensation in them for a decade.

Something snapped in front of him; Dean jumped slightly before realizing it was a twig or a branch. “I can’t find any dry wood,” said Castiel. “It would be ideal if I could take you back to the cabin and wait there with you for Sam, although I don’t think we could travel that far. But–” He stopped.

“What?” Dean asked, lifting his head. Dammit, he wished he could see.

“If Sam needs help...” Castiel sighed. “The Sluagh is dangerous. He needs back-up.”

Dean’s brain wasn’t really working at full capacity at the moment, but the answer seemed pretty obvious regardless. “You need to tie me to a tree and then go.”

“I’m not tying you to a tree, Dean.”

“If Sam gets killed trying to kill that thing, I’ll never forgive myself. And if he doesn’t kill it I’m doomed anyway, right? I can already hear that music building. It’s only a matter of time until I try to top myself again. Tie me up and leave me.”

“Dean, you’ll die of hypothermia. And besides, I have no rope.”

Oh. Yeah, he really wasn’t thinking straight. “Then take me with you,” he said.

“That would be difficult. In case you hadn’t noticed, you can’t see. And I’m not really in any shape to carry you.”

“I can walk!” Dean protested, but even as he said it, his entire body shuddered as though it was disagreeing with him. 

Castiel sighed. There was a long silence. Dean found it getting harder and harder to think. If it wasn’t for the music pulsing in his ears, he might have even considered lying down and going to sleep.

“We’re just going to have to trust Sam,” Castiel said, sounding worried. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Dean muttered, shivering. “So you healed him? He’s all good now?”

Castiel hesitated. “Yes. Dean, I already told you that.”

Dean frowned. “S-sorry.”

“It’s okay. Dean... I feel as though I’m not much help in this situation. Is it possible to make a fire from damp wood?”

“You have to... strip back the bark. Or something. How are you g-gonna light it?”

Castiel didn’t answer. 

Despite the cold, despite everything, his silence made Dean chuckle. “You offered to make a fire but you had no way to light it? You’re some boy scout, C-Cas.”

“I existed before humans learned the ability to create fire, Dean. I know how to do it, thank you.”

“Go on then. Rub two sticks together. It’s easy.”

“It’s... it’s not when they’re wet.” Castiel sounded pissed.

Dean laughed, then winced as a shudder rippled through him. “Ugh, I’m so c-cold.” 

There was a pause, then a crunching of pebbles. Castiel sat down beside him, one arm leaning against Dean’s. 

“We should get out of these wet clothes,” he said, still sounding annoyed. “They’re only making us colder.”

“We need to share b-body heat. That’s what they do in the m-movies.”

“I don’t think either of us has any right now, but I suppose we could try. Except...” 

Castiel twitched, and Dean nudged him gently. “What?”

“I don’t think I can get my coat off. My... shoulder. It complicates matters.”

Dean turned to him, reaching out with one frozen hand. “Let me see– uh, feel. Assuming I c-can feel anything with this icicle I have on the end of my arm.”

Castiel took his hand and placed it, very gingerly, on his right shoulder. Dean slid it underneath Castiel’s sodden coat and felt around, as gently as he could when his fingers were so numb and lifeless. But he didn’t need full sensation to determine that Castiel’s collarbone and shoulder were in pieces; the bones actually moved as he touched them, and Castiel hissed in a breath. 

“This is bad,” Dean said, shocked. He ran a hand down Castiel’s side and felt his ribs – or what remained of them, at least. He must have hit the water like a cannonball. Castiel shuddered and, now that Dean was closer, he could hear him wheezing. 

“One of your ribs may have bruised your lung,” he observed, feeling a little sick; on a human, these wounds would be catastrophic. “Or, f-fuck, all of your ribs. Yeah, this is bad.”

“There’s nothing I can do about it,” Castiel said, with a pained sigh. “My powers will return and I will heal. But all we can do now is wait for Sam to do what he can against the Sluagh. And you, Dean, have to stay alive.”

The music was wailing again, a threat rising inside his mind. Dean lowered his head, feeling exhausted, and to his surprise Castiel placed his good arm around him and pulled him close.

“Thought we were s’posed to be g-getting naked and warm,” Dean mumbled against his side. 

“I’ll see if I can remove my coat.”

It was awkward and, from the sound of things, it caused Castiel a lot of pain, but finally their outer layers were removed and they huddled as close as they could. Dean wasn’t sure that removing clothing – even icy, wet clothing – was the right thing to do; the air was freezing, it was raining and there was an evil wind. But he was too tired to think of anything else. It occurred to him that he had stopped shivering, and that wasn’t good either.

“Is there any shelter nearby?” he rasped, racking his brain to remember how to fend off hypothermia. 

“No,” said Castiel. “Even the base of the cliff is too far away now. We floated a little downriver.”

A voice rose out of the music. _He wants you to die,_ it said.

Startled for a moment, Dean managed to ignore it. “How f-far are we from the c-cabin?” he asked.

“I would calculate about a half-hour walk. There seems to be a path, at least, so we don’t have to climb the cliff to get back.”

“Then we’re g-gonna have to walk it.”

“Dean, you are in no shape to do anything of the sort. We’ve been through this already. Don’t you remember?”

_He’s annoyed with you. You anger him._

“It’s just walking, Cas,” Dean said, trying to drown out the voice. “I’ve been d-doing it since I was a toddler. I just need a guide, is all.”

“I don’t have the strength to walk when I’m this injured _and_ keep you safe, Dean. I’m sorry.”

_You’re a burden. He could go and save Sam if you weren’t here._

Dean twitched in irritation at the words. “So what’s the deal, Cas? D-do we just sit here until I f-freeze to death?” 

“No. We sit here until Sam finds us.”

“And what if–”

“Dean! I have no more answers than you do.”

_He hates you. Can you hear it in his voice?_

“This isn’t good,” Dean said, his voice cracking, and this time is wasn’t because of the cold. “Cas, it’s back. It’s trying to tell me that you’re better off without me.”

Castiel squeezed him tighter. “Since when was I ever better off without you?”

Dean thought about it, feeling his heart sink. “Like, since always? Since you met me your life’s been nothing but crap. Maybe it’s right and you’d be happier if you’d never met me. That’s not even the spell t-talking, that’s just c-common sense.”

“I didn’t even know what happiness was before I met you, Dean. I had no emotions. I have you to thank for enabling me to experience them.”

Dean’s mind was growing fuzzy, the music growing in his head, and he fought to keep his words clear. “Happiness is... is... one thing. But I’ve made you sad, too. Did you ever c-cry before you met me?”

Castiel was silent for a moment. “No,” he said. “But I am not arguing this with you, Dean. Let’s talk about something else.”

Dean didn’t reply, sleep slowly washing over him, but then Castiel shook him and he gasped awake. “What?” he muttered, numbly.

“You can’t sleep, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know the hypothermia d-drill,” he replied. “I’m so c-cold, though.”

A frozen hand stroked his cheek. “I know you are. I am too. But Sam will find us.”

_He will sit here and let you die, because you mean nothing to him._

Dean shuddered, trying desperately to ignore the words. A thought suddenly struck him. “You put a box in my head,” he said.

“I did,” Castiel replied, not missing a beat despite the unexpected change of subject.

“Are my m-memories of Hell really that bad?”

“They are.”

Dean thought about it. “I g-guess I should say thank you, then.”

Castiel was silent. Dean felt himself drifting away, the cold taking him over, but then he was nudged awake. 

“Stay with me.”

Dean groaned. “I have voices inside my head and voices outside my head. I c-can’t win.”

“Do you want to know the first time I cried, Dean?”

Castiel’s voice was steady, but Dean found himself wishing he could see his expression. “Was it the first time you watched _Bambi_?” he replied, distantly surprised that he could still crack jokes while ninety-per-cent frozen.

Castiel made a sound that could have been a laugh. “No, that was the seventy-third time I cried.”

Apparently Dean wasn’t the only one capable of making jokes in the cold. “Okay, when?”

There was a short silence, and then Castiel said: “When I was in Hell, freeing you from Alastair, I looked into your mind and saw what had been done to you. I realized I had to make you the box to contain those memories. And I cried when I made that box.”

It took a while to process the words, as Dean was finding it hard to concentrate, but after a small pause he realized what they meant. “You– you said earlier that I g-gave you emotions,” he said, suddenly despondent. “So... does this mean the first thing you felt was... _pity_?”

“I felt pity, but it was more than that... I felt pride at how hard you fought. You were stronger than you remember, Dean. And it moved me like nothing I had ever known in my entire existence to that point.”

Dean didn’t quite know what to say to that. But the music swirled in his mind and a little voice said, _You are so pitiful, Dean. See how he pities you? You are a burden to him. He laughs at you behind your back, do you know that? He and your brother think you are a joke._

“It’s not true,” he murmured, feeling a surge of anger. The music surged and he groaned, lifting numb hands to his ears, but he couldn’t uncurl his fingers. It wouldn’t have worked anyway; he already knew that the music was impossible to block.

“Dean?”

“Cas, it’s doing it again... I can’t stop it...”

“Everything it tells you is a lie. Just remember that, okay?”

_He’s the liar. He doesn’t love you. You are a joke to him. You’re better off dead._

This time, Dean’s fragmented thoughts couldn’t fight against the voice. He shuddered, letting out a small, miserable moan.

“Dean? Stay with me!”

_Sam will die because of you. How dare you keep Castiel here when Sam needs him! You are selfish, Dean. You always have been._

“You need to leave me, Cas. Go find Sam. If that thing hurts him...”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m not important, C-Cas. I’m ordering you to go find my brother. Why are you here? Why are you here when you should be looking after Sam?”

“Dean, don’t listen to the spell.” 

_If you die, he’ll be free._

“If I die you’ll be free. If I die you’ll be free! Let me go, Cas – I’m not important, Sam is important, he’s the one you need to be looking after–” 

He tried to pull away from Castiel’s grip, but even one-armed and injured the angel was stronger than he was. “Let me go! You need to go to Sam, why are you wasting time on me when Sam’s out there and he needs–”

“ _Stop it, Dean!_ ” Castiel sounded furious, but Dean knew now that he needed to get away from him; he was holding him back, an anchor, and without him Castiel would be free. With a desperate, adrenaline-filled growl, he pushed him with all his strength. 

To his surprise, it worked; Castiel fell backwards with a pained cry, releasing him, and Dean shoved himself up onto his knees, intending to crawl into the river. The current sounded like it was flowing really fast: it would take him away in a few seconds and Castiel was hurt, really hurt, so he couldn’t swim after him. Once Dean was gone the angel would be able to find Sam and give him the help he needed, and then together the two of them would get on with their lives without him – all he had to do was reach the water, _it was so close, it was so cold, it would be a quick death, so quick and even painless if he was lucky, although he didn’t deserve luck he just deserved to die..._

From nowhere, there was a scream inside his head. 

It was a scream of pure fury and pain, a screech of fear and disbelief, and it was so loud that Dean screamed too, clutching at his ears in agony. He recognized it at once – it was the Sluagh and there was no mistaking what it was: a death scream. The wail lasted for a few more seconds and then ended with a shattering flash of light that overwhelmed him, forcing him to curl into a ball among the rocks and pebbles, howling in terror and totally bewildered. His eye-sockets were burning, something terrible and agonizing going on inside them; Dean felt a pressure in there that was disgusting and wrong and he jammed the heels of his palms against them, praying for the pain to stop, and then... suddenly... it did.

Dean dropped his hands. There was brightness. There was light. He blinked, unable to comprehend what had just happened, and then he knew.

He had eyes again.

He sat upright, blinking furiously, tears running down his cheeks. At first all he could see was a white, blinding blur; then his eyes slowly focused and he could make out a gray sky and a brown strip below it that seemed to be moving. A few more seconds and that focused, too, and suddenly Dean was staring at a choppy, muddy river and a forest beyond it that was wreathed in cloud.

“I can see!” he yelled, ecstatic. “Cas, I can see! I can see!”

He turned and saw Castiel climbing to his knees behind him, his hair wet and stuck to his forehead. But at the sight Dean choked down his joy, for Castiel’s face was deathly pale, hideously bruised and bloody down one side, his right eye swollen and red. Because he had stripped down to his half-destroyed, sopping-wet t-shirt, Dean could see how the bruises ran all the way down his right arm and torso, black and ominous. His hand lay limp and useless on his lap and he held himself as though he was in immense pain, his neck twisted a little. But it was the look in his one good eye that scared Dean the most: it was unfocused and dazed, staring behind Dean blankly, and for a moment he thought Castiel was about to faint.

“Hey, hey, Cas,” he hissed, crawling over to his side. He put a shaking hand on Castiel’s uninjured cheek and tried to meet his eyes, remembering how he’d just pushed him over in his insane struggle to kill himself. Had he hurt him?

Castiel flinched at his touch, then seemed to rouse himself, meeting his gaze at last. “I missed your eyes,” he croaked, sounding weirdly shell-shocked and vacant.

“Yeah, I missed ’em too.” Dean leaned in and kissed him on one side of his mouth, taking care to go nowhere near his bruises. Castiel flinched again and Dean leaned back, feeling a little guilty. “You look terrible.”

“Sam killed it,” Castiel said quietly, staring past him. “The Sluagh is dead and the spell is undone.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, taking a long, steady breath. He couldn’t hear the music any more. His head was empty.

“Wow,” he said. “Peace and quiet. Everything is awesome.”

Castiel lowered his head, grimacing a little. He didn’t say anything else, and Dean took a few moments to study him, worried, because even though he knew he was going to heal himself eventually, he still looked dreadful. 

And then, as though his own body suddenly remembered what was going on, he felt a wave of cold run through him that made him gasp. He was absolutely _freezing_. The adrenaline surge from the spell being broken wouldn’t last for much longer, and things were going to get pretty desperate after that.

“We need to get back to the cabin,” he announced, and climbed stiffly to his feet. He heard his shoes squelch but felt nothing from his toes, but that was something he’d worry about later; he could stand upright, and that was all that mattered. “Come on, Cas. Can you walk? Give me your hand.”

Castiel didn’t seem to hear him, so Dean repeated the order and Castiel held out his good hand. Dean pulled him to his feet as gently as he could, but Castiel let out a small, bitten-off whimper and swayed disturbingly. Without a second thought Dean positioned himself on his uninjured side and put an arm around his waist, holding him steady, careful not to touch his busted ribs. 

“You sure you’re up for this?” he asked, genuinely concerned. Castiel hadn’t seemed anywhere near this bad earlier, but of course Dean hadn’t actually seen him. How had he kept his voice steady all that time? He’d also been walking around and trying to find firewood – something he didn’t look capable of now. Had he grown worse in the last few minutes? _Had_ Dean really hurt him when he’d pushed him over?

But Castiel simply coughed quietly and nodded. “Let’s go. Sam will be waiting for us.”

Dean took a step forward, scanning the shoreline for a path. It was then that his eyes fell on the cliff face a short distance upstream and he stopped dead, stunned.

“We fell from _there?_ ”

Castiel shivered beneath his grip. “Yes.”

Dean stared, totally blown away by the fact that they’d survived such a long drop. He couldn’t even remember falling.

“Wings would’ve been good,” Castiel said dully.

They started to walk. 

 

* * *

 

It was torture. Castiel was leaning on him so heavily that Dean couldn’t walk fast enough to work up a sweat and fend off the cold, and he was shivering so hard that even putting one foot in front of the other required all his concentration. He could feel that Castiel was shivering too, his breath hitching and wheezing in his chest, and with every step Dean kept expecting him to pass out – although, after just ten minutes, he realized he should probably worry more about whether he was going to pass out himself. He felt like a frozen dishrag, wrung-out and empty, and only the thought of getting back to the relative warmth of the cabin and, hopefully, Sam kept him going.

There was one huge bonus, though: he could see. 

The forest was swathed in mist and rain, but even in the middle of winter the greens of the shrubs and grasses were rich and beautiful, accented by piles of fallen yellow leaves that Dean admired even as he tried not to slip on them. Even feeling as crappy as he did right now, the fact that he could see again gave him hope. He’d come out of the darkness and into the light, after all.

“You still with me, C-Cas?” he asked after a while, feeling the weight on his side growing heavier with every step. 

Castiel pulled in a sharp, painful-sounding breath. “Yes, Dean,” he replied, his voice too faint for Dean’s liking.

He tried to think of a way to keep him focused, forcing words out of his frozen lips. “You d-didn’t tell me how you and Sam found the Sluagh.”

Castiel coughed, his body jerking so hard that Dean almost lost his grip on his waist. They paused for a moment, finding their feet, and Dean felt a stab of real worry. 

“Sam brought a map,” Castiel said, after a few moments, and started to walk again. “He was worried there would be no phone signal out here, so he wanted it just in c-case we were lost.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my nerdy brother,” Dean muttered, shifting his grip on Castiel’s side.

“When you mentioned that the Sluagh’s realm contained a lake and some burned trees, we wondered if they mirrored where the Sluagh was in our own world. And sure enough, there was a lake on the map, and a section of the f-forest that had burned a few years ago in a wildfire.”

Dean frowned at that. “How did you know it burned? They don’t mark that kind of stuff on maps.”

Castiel huffed, and Dean glanced over at him in surprise to find him smiling. “Your brother is very good at researching,” he said fondly. “He read the history of this forest as we drove here.”

“Nerd,” Dean said again.

“The area was very large, however, and we d-didn’t know how to narrow it down. But then you said something interesting – that you’d witnessed crows flying in the Sluagh’s realm.”

Dean remembered staring up into that weird, ominous sky and seeing specks soaring above his head. 

“Then, later, you said the Sluagh was ‘resting with its flock’,” Castiel continued. “The Dark Faerie have long been associated with c-crows. It made sense that it would have found a place to conceal itself and heal alongside the birds, probably at the foot of one of their favorite trees.”

Unable to help himself, Dean shuddered as he recalled how the creature’s form had sometimes been made up of black feathers and beaks. Freaky bastard. Then he frowned. “So, what, did Sam head out into the forest looking for crow’s nests? There must be thousands of them! How the hell did he find the thing so quickly?”

“There are a lot of crows in this forest,” Castiel agreed. “So many, in fact, that the main area where they nest is marked on the map as ‘The Rookery’. It was next to the lake and in the middle of the area that was burned. It stood to reason that the Sluagh was there somewhere.”

Dean pondered this, momentarily forgetting the cold, and then looked at Castiel. “That’s some pretty impressive Sherlock Holmes stuff there,” he said. “You guys make a good team.”

Castiel met his eyes for a few seconds, then looked down at the ground. “Yes,” he said. 

Dean frowned, wondering why Castiel didn’t seem to want to look at him, but then he heard it: his brother’s voice in the distance, calling his name and then Castiel’s.

“Sammy!” he yelled, surprising himself at just how loud he could shout when he wanted to. “Sam! We’re over here! _Sam!_ ”

There was a short silence and then Sam’s voice came again, but closer. “Dean? Keep shouting!”

“Here!” He kept yelling until he heard a crashing sound in the undergrowth, and then suddenly Sam was in the middle of the path, panting and red-faced, his clothes covered in dark blood but his expression so full of joy that Dean’s heart leapt at the sight of it.

“Your eyes!” Sam cried, then he glanced at Castiel and his face fell. “Shit, Cas, are you okay?”

“Peachy,” grunted Castiel, and then suddenly Dean couldn’t hold his weight any more and the angel fell to his knees in the mud. 

Sam closed the distance between them until he could take Castiel’s arm and hold him upright. “Whoa, whoa. Hey, Cas.”

“You killed it,” Dean observed, staring down at his brother’s bloodstained clothes. Bloodstained _dry_ clothes. They looked warm.

“Yeah, it was unconscious or asleep – it never even knew I was there until it was too late,” Sam said, glancing up at him. “I guess your eyes came back when it died, huh? I was really scared they wouldn’t. How do you feel? Can you still hear the music?”

“It’s gone,” Dean said, and he found himself smiling. “No more suicidal tendencies.”

Sam grinned back, then said, “Why are you both so wet?” His eyebrows rose in realization. “Holy shit, did you actually fall off the cliff?”

“Luckily I had my own angel parachute,” Dean quipped, but then Castiel coughed and he regretted joking about it. “He’s really hurt, Sammy, we need to g-get back to the c-cabin and get warm.”

“Here.” Sam shrugged off his coat and handed it to him. Dean took it with a trembling hand, and once he’d slid it over his sodden, icy shirt he could have cried at how warm it was. Below him, Sam removed his shirt and placed it over Castiel’s shoulders, but the angel seemed too out of it to notice. 

“Cas?” Sam said, patting his cheek gingerly. “Can you stand? Come on, you need to lean on me.”

“N-no, I’m good d-down here in the mud,” said Castiel faintly, and Sam shot Dean a worried look. 

“He’ll heal,” Dean said, swallowing hard. “He just needs time.”

“Come on, Cas.” Sam heaved him to his feet, taking care not to touch any of his injuries, and Castiel allowed himself to be maneuvered until he was leaning on Sam’s side, his head lowered and his eyes closed. 

It was a long, cold walk back to the cabin. 

 

* * *

 

By the time they arrived, Castiel was barely conscious and Sam was breathing heavily, struggling to move him while Dean watched impotently; he couldn’t share the load because of the injuries on Castiel’s right side and, well, he wasn’t exactly on top form either. His brother heaved Castiel onto the bed he’d been lying on himself just a few hours beforehand as Dean shut the door to the cabin, relishing the exquisite feeling of being out of the wind and rain. It wasn’t heated in there, of course, but simply being inside lifted his spirits to the roof.

“I need to go to the car,” Sam announced, wiping sweat from his forehead. “There’s no way we can get Cas back there like this, so we need to stay another night. I can bring food and dry clothes.”

Dean suddenly realized that he was starving. “Food. Oh my god, f-food. How fast can you run?”

Sam shot him a frustrated look. “I think I may have to swim. The path’s gonna be a swamp by now.”

“Don’t get lost. And you need to be back before d-dark.”

Sam shook his head. “It’s only an hour each way – maybe a bit more, depending on the state of the path. It’s ten a.m. I’ll be fine.”

Dean frowned at him, feeling a little lost. He’d completely lost track of what time it was. Hell, he couldn’t even remember what month it was right now. Sam saw his confused expression and patted him on the shoulder. “Look, you guys are popsicles – you need to share body heat. Get on the bed. I’ll see if I can find any blankets.”

On instinct, Dean bent to remove his boots, only to find his fingers didn’t work. He plucked at the wet laces forlornly, too tired to even feel annoyance, and then his brother suddenly appeared and did the work for him. 

“T-thanks,” he mumbled. 

“Christ, you’re freezing,” Sam said, scowling at Dean’s wet socks. “Come on, get these off.”

Dean followed his instructions and then moved over to the bed. His coat was lying on the mattress; for a few moments he stared at it, wondering why it wasn’t wet, before remembering that he’d removed it the previous day – or was it night? – and placed it over Sam. It wasn’t as though he’d stopped to put it back on again when he’d snuck out earlier to go and jump off a cliff. He picked it up gratefully and climbed on the flimsy mattress, lying next to Castiel’s uninjured side, touching arms with him. He draped the coat over them both, wishing it was long enough to cover his feet, and then looked across at his brother, who was opening and closing cupboards.

“You don’t have a c-coat,” he said.

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“But it’s raining and it’s a l-long walk.”

“There are dry clothes in the car. It’s okay.” Sam came over the bed. “Look, I can’t find any blankets and there’s no fireplace or burner in here. You guys are just going to have to snuggle till I get back. Try to stay warm.” 

“What does ‘warm’ mean?” Castiel muttered bitterly, without opening his eyes. Dean jumped – he’d assumed that Castiel had passed out.

Sam squeezed Castiel’s good shoulder, then reached into Dean’s coat pocket and pulled out the Impala’s keys. “I’ll be back as fast as I can.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” Dean observed, shivering. 

Sam stood still for a moment, staring down at him. “I’m glad you’re okay, Dean,” he said, with a small smile. “I was really worried.”

Dean’s lips twitched into a grin. “Yeah. Me too.”

Still smiling, Sam nodded and left, closing the door gently behind him.

“I don’t think I have t-toes any more,” Dean said, moving closer to Castiel. The wet body beside his didn’t feel any warmer than he did.

“What are ‘toes’?” murmured Castiel. 

Dean sniffed, trying to burrow deeper into the coat without stealing too much of it from his companion. “If I get frostbite, you can heal me when you’re better. P-promise?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel didn’t open his eyes as he spoke, and Dean stared at him thoughtfully, trying to suppress the quakes running through his body.

“Hey... are you okay?” he asked. Castiel had seemed distant since Dean had first seen him on the riverbank – and while he was clearly in a lot of pain, which probably explained it, something about his behavior was also setting off Dean’s Spider-Sense.

Castiel tilted his head to look at him. One eye had now swollen half-shut and it made Dean’s stomach churn in pity. 

“I’m very tired,” Castiel said flatly.

“You saved me,” Dean observed. “You saved me from that f-fall and you healed Sam, too. Thank you.”

“You save me every day, Dean,” Castiel said, and looked away. The words were pure Castiel – unguarded, honest – but Dean could definitely sense something wasn’t right about them. It was as though he’d said them as a rote response. There was no emotion behind them.

“Come on now, I want the truth,” he said, alarmed. “Are you okay, Cas? Did I hurt you when I pushed you over?”

Castiel closed his eyes. “You didn’t hurt me, Dean.”

He waited, but that was it. Castiel had finished. Dean stared at him, shivering, feeling miserable and anxious, until it became too much. “What aren’t you telling me?” he asked eventually, irritation seeping into his voice.

Castiel lay still for a few moments. Then he opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. “I really don’t want to talk about it. And you don’t want to hear it, Dean.”

Well, that didn’t sound good. Dean sighed. “Okay, here’s a little lesson in humanity for you: nothing makes us want to hear something _more_ than someone saying ‘you don’t want to hear it’.”

There was a long, heavy silence. 

“ _Cas–_ ”

“When the Sluagh died, its death didn’t just heal you,” Castiel said impatiently, still staring at nothing. “It was as though a floodgate had opened. All its magic unravelled. You were restored to the way you were before it hurt you, and... my memories came back to me.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Your memories?”

Castiel closed his eyes again; it was as though he was too exhausted to keep them open for long. “I remembered what the Sluagh did to me all those years ago,” he said. “I remembered every second of it. It hit me like an explosion, all at once. It was... horrible.”

Dean thought back to what the Sluagh had shown him of their first meeting – how awful it was, how twisted. He’d only seen a fraction of their time together, too. No wonder Castiel had seemed so stunned on that riverbank. 

“I’m so sorry,” he offered, knowing his words were inadequate.

Castiel lay silent. Trying to get his frozen fingers to move, Dean reached down to take his hand – but Castiel jerked away at his touch. 

“Hey,” Dean said, hurt. “What’s the deal?”

“It pretended to be you, Dean,” Castiel said, through gritted teeth. “And I wasn’t strong enough to fight it. To fight you.”

Dean sat upright, horrified. “Whoa. Calm down, Cas. It wasn’t your fault. That thing had the craziest magic – nothing about it made sense. It made me do stuff too and I couldn’t fight it, either. I just had to let it happen and go with it.”

“It made you watch us fuck,” Castiel snapped, glaring up at him. 

Dean opened his mouth, couldn’t think of what to say, and then closed it again. They stared at each other for a few moments and then Castiel looked away. “I need to sleep,” he said.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Dean said, trying to force down a sudden wave of anger. “Are you seriously blaming me for something I didn’t do? Which part, Cas? The bit where the Sluagh pretended to be me or the bit where it made me watch you both?”

“Neither,” Castiel said roughly. “I shouldn’t have told you, Dean. None of this is logical.”

“No, it’s not, and neither is being pissed at me!”

“I’m not pissed at you!”

“You won’t let me touch you! You’re acting like you’re angry at me!”

“I’m not–” Castiel snapped his mouth shut, growling. 

Dean waited, breathing hard, the cold forgotten.

“I’m not angry at you,” Castiel said, at last. “I’m angry at myself. I’m... I’m furious. I’m disappointed. I’m... I’m disgusted. I spent all that time with the demons and not once, never, did I enjoy a second of it. They drugged me and they messed with my head but I never, _ever_ enjoyed it. But then that thing took me into that... place and it... it... it didn’t even force me, Dean, I was willing, I was happy to fuck it, and it looked like you. I knew it wasn’t you but your body was so desirable, so _right,_ and I couldn’t stop myself – I fucked you twenty times over and I came every time.”

Dean swallowed, feeling a little nauseous. “That wasn’t your fault,” he said. “You were being abused, Cas. Controlled.”

“It controlled me, alright,” Castiel said bitterly, and then he broke off to cough, wet and harsh-sounding. Dean wasn’t surprised to see blood fleck his lips when he’d finished, although he didn’t say anything. “I was its puppet, its toy. It used me and it used you and... and... now look at us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Castiel looked him in the eyes, his expression suddenly so mournful that Dean shivered in response.

“We’re fucking, aren’t we?” Castiel said.

Dean blinked, completely lost. “What...? I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying that I have no idea if my lust for you is mine, or something the Sluagh gave me.”

Dean stared at him, speechless. 

Castiel stared back through his one good eye, then turned away. 

“You said... you said you’d loved me for years,” Dean said faintly, feeling reality slipping away from him. “That wasn’t something it _made up_ , Cas. You’ve always felt this way about me, you’ve said that over and over.”

“No, Dean. I was wrong.”

“W-what?”

“I have always loved you,” Castiel said, swallowing nervously, “but I didn’t want to _fuck_ you. It wasn’t... carnal, not until I was released from my chains. That was when I started to think that I’d always wanted you sexually, but... but... I don’t know if I did.”

“I don’t... this doesn’t make sense, Cas...”

“I realize now... this thing between us, the sex, the... our relationship, it’s not something I chose. I think it was programmed into me. I think it came from the Sluagh. I’m not sure if I... if I really want you in that way.”

Dean felt horror crawl down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel, his voice cracking. “It’s confusing. I’m confused. I don’t know how to cope with this knowledge. I don’t think we should continue the way we were, but I don’t want to lose you. I think– I think I need to go away for a while, and think things through.”

Again, Dean felt a surge of anger. This was insane. Things had been going so well, and now... this? All because of that freaky, twig-filled menace from some bizarro dimension? 

“No,” he snapped. “You are _not_ fucking _dumping_ me.”

Castiel shook his head. “I’m not– at least, I don’t think I am. I don’t know, Dean. I’m not sure–”

He coughed again, harder and harsher than before, and Dean watched as he choked up blood, gasping for air. He hesitated, wanting to comfort him, to hold his hand, to stroke his cheek, but was he allowed to any more? Was this new Castiel someone who would appreciate those gestures? But then it was a moot point, because Castiel’s good eye flickered and suddenly – frustratingly – he passed out, his body falling limp.

Dean stared down at him silently, trying to process what the fuck had just happened.

Castiel had been brainwashed by the Sluagh. 

Did this mean... did this mean what they’d had over the last few months wasn’t even _real?_

It was as though all the oxygen suddenly disappeared from the world.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next part will be posted in a few weeks. 
> 
> Sorry about the cliffhanger. 
> 
> No, really, I am. 
> 
> Honest.
> 
> Ahem.


End file.
